The Miami Sofitel
by SomewhereApart
Summary: After the events of "The Deluca Motel," Calleigh gives Eric an upgrade.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey." He'd have known her voice anywhere – soft, reassuring, the one she used with small children, battered women, and him. Eric wondered what exactly that said about him. Too distracted by the atom bomb his mother had just detonated on his life to care, he just scooted over on the break room sofa to make room for Calleigh, and muttered a soft "hey" in reply. She settled next to him, slid a hand onto his knee. "I hear your mother was here."

"Yeah, she uh…" Of course she'd bring that up. Could always count on Calleigh to spill salt on a wound while trying to be nice. "I needed to talk to her about something."

"Does this have anything to do with why you're staying at the motel?"

"Cal, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it right now."

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say when the warm pressure of her hand eased away from his knee and her eyes went carefully guarded. She shifted slightly, tugging uselessly at the hem of her shirt. "Okay…"

"No, wait. Cal. I'm sorry, its just…" Eric sighed heavily, wishing he knew what to say, wishing he could talk to her about this, but he didn't know. Didn't know if it would put her at risk, didn't know… hell, he didn't even know what he didn't know at this point. All he knew right now was that everything he'd ever known to be true was a lie. "It's a long story. Can we maybe… save it for later?"

She settled again then, relaxed. Apparently that had been the right thing to say. "Yeah, of course. In fact…" She shifted a little, seemed suddenly on edge again. Nervous. It was an odd look on Calleigh, but not entirely unpleasant. She smiled at him, a little tight, a little uncertain. A lot adorable, actually. And then she just handed him what felt like a credit card.

He turned it over in his hand, frowned. It was a keycard. "The Sofitel?"

"The Deluca is a dump, Eric. You should be staying somewhere that people aren't hiding money in the vents and shooting each other."

"Money in the vents, huh?"

"Yeah. That's what Reston and his wife were fighting over. It was drug money; Linda Bowen's boyfriend found it in the vent and hid it in the ice machine."

"The ice machine?" Somehow Eric couldn't muster up the effort to be surprised.

"Yeah. Molly Reston isn't claiming the money, for obvious reasons, so I'm about to head back over and give it to Linda. Twenty-six grand; it'll go a long way for her and that baby."

Eric watched her face, the way her lips curved into a smile, half-sad, half-pleased. He wished for just a moment – okay, maybe he'd been wishing for a while now – that she could ease a little bit of his pain just as easily as she was about to ease Linda Bowen's. "You're a really good person, you know that?"

The compliment threw her, made her dart her eyes around the room in a search for something to deflect his attention to. He was no stranger to that move. But her smile was more honest now, fuller, more flattered. It pleased him, eased a little bit of the pain after all. "I'm just doing my job, Eric."

"No, you're not." Not wanting to listen to her defense, he pushed ahead, tapping her thumb gently with the key card. "I can't take this."

"Eric." Her face went hard, determined. There was the Calleigh he knew and loved. Her hand covered his again, pressing the keycard back into it. "I don't want you staying in a place where you're going to be shot at."

"So I should just stay somewhere where they can poison my room service instead?" he teased, lacing their fingers, keycard still separating their palms.

"We won't order room service," she replied simply, giving his hand a squeeze that made the edge of the keycard dig into his palm. He wondered how pathetic it made him that he didn't mind the bite of pain a damned bit, and then his brain finally processed the beginning of what she said.

"Wait – 'we?'"

"Consider me your new bodyguard, Eric." Much to his disapproval, she pulled her hand from his, leaving the keycard behind before patting her gun gently. "Armed and ready, and at your side until whatever it is that is making people shoot at you has blown over."

"Calleigh, I don't think this will just-"

"Passed, then." She was using that tone, the one she used when she meant business. "Until this has passed. Losing you isn't an option, Eric. Not for me."

Well. That was... telling. Or maybe he was just hopeful. Still… "Its too much, Cal. The Sofitel is like $300 a night."

"I'm good with money, Eric. I can afford a week at the Sofitel, and after that, we'll figure it out. Besides, it's already booked; I called on my lunch. Five nights." Something shifted in her face then, the hesitance was back, and she reached for his hand again. She chewed her lip for just a moment, then lifted her eyes to his. Nerves, energy, just a hint of anticipation and doubt. "Just us."

Oh. _Oh._ She was… oh. Five nights in a hotel, just them. Plenty of time to talk and… oh. Well. That was… She was smirking at him now, he realized, and he wondered what his face must have looked like. "Gobsmacked" would probably be the right word. "Right. Yeah."

Her smirk spread to a grin and he couldn't help but mirror it before she nodded and drew her hand away again. "I'm going to go give this money to Linda Bowen and pack you a bag. Just go to the hotel after work. I'll swing home after I get off, get a bag for myself and meet you there."

"Okay." Eric was pretty sure he'd never had butterflies before, but if the trembling, nervous energy in his gut was any indication, he had them now. Leave it to Calleigh to make him feel like a blushing schoolgirl. "After work."

"Mmhmm. And then you'll tell me why your mother was here." It wasn't a question; it was an order. This time, it wasn't one he was inclined to disobey.

"Yeah, we'll talk." It was his turn to smile at her, but the smile faltered just a little when she lifted a hand to cup his cheek, then brought her lips to the other. She lingered just a moment longer than would be considered friendly before pulling back and pushing herself off the couch in one fluid move.

"See you tonight."

"Yeah." Eric felt dumb, speechless, and he watched her walk out of the room before squeezing his hand tightly around the keycard. For a day that had started out bad and just gotten worse, it looked like there might be a good night ahead after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Calleigh felt silly. Silly and immature, and a dozen other adjectives that meant the same thing. Nerves were doing a conga in her stomach, each sideways kick a bolt of near-nausea. And why? She was a grown woman; she shouldn't feel like this just because she was on the long elevator ride up to a hotel suite where a friend was waiting for her. Just a friend. A good friend. A _best_ friend.

Oh, who the hell was she kidding? Eric wasn't a friend -- not _just_ a friend, at least. Not anymore. And she'd practically given him the green light to make his move when she'd made a point of reminding him that she'd booked them a week in a hotel "just us." Like that wasn't obvious already. Who else would be there? Valera? Ryan? Half of MDPD? Of course it would be just them. She had a sneaking suspicion that the impulse that had made her state the obvious was the same impulse that made her stare a little too long when he was dripping and slick in his recovery wetsuit, or when he bit his bottom lip while he concentrated on a piece of evidence.

She'd have to have a talk with that particular impulse, but at this particular moment the elevator doors were opening, letting her out into the hallway. It was just as well, she figured. That impulse would probably just tell her to shut up and kiss him already. Then she walked into the hotel room and found him fresh out of the shower and rushing to shrug into a t-shirt, and she thought that impulse might be wiser than she'd given it credit for.

"Hey," she greeted, taking stock of the room quickly -- he was in the living area, with a small couch, a plush chair, a coffee table and a TV and DVD player; the double doors behind Eric revealed a peek of a heavenly-looking King-sized bed, and the view out of the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows was nothing but clear, blue water.

"Hi." He met her halfway across the room, easing the plastic takeout bag from her hand and offering her a smile. She was somewhat soothed by the fact that he seemed a little uneasy as well, but truth be told it was going to be an awfully long and awkward week if they both spent it dancing around each other. That would have to be dealt with. "This isn't a room; it's a suite."

Her lips curved up into a smirk and she made a beeline for the bedroom with her bag, calling back over her shoulder, "Didn't I mention that?"

"I think I would've remembered."

"Oops!" Calleigh smirked and set her bag on the bed -- the massive, plush, I-could-probably-fall-asleep-right-here-right-now bed -- and pulled open the zipper. She did not feel like ironing in the morning, that was for damned sure.

Eric appeared at the doorway a moment later, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed in that way that she hated because it made his biceps look just yummy. "You shouldn't have done this."

"You should have told me you were staying in a sleazy motel." She glanced at him then, just for a moment, and watched the way he ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. Guilty. Calleigh turned back to her bag and pulled out a pair of slacks, draping them neatly over a chair near the bed.

"You would have insisted I stay with you."

"You sure about that? Because this doesn't look like my place."

"Are you mad at me?"

Calleigh paused, sighed, and was about to tell him that no, no she wasn't, when she realized that yes, maybe she was. "You were in danger and nobody knew, Eric. What if something had happened to you? What if you'd been abducted or something? We'd have had no idea where to even start looking."

He shifted uncomfortably, rolled his shoulder, frowned. "I didn't want you to worry."

She smiled at that, shaking her head and settling a blouse on top of her slacks -- three pairs now. She would put everything in the closet after they ate. "I always worry about you, Eric. You've become kind of..." There was just no good way to finish that sentence, was there?

"Kind of what?" But God forbid Eric Delko let a subject drop...

"Important. To me." She fingered a button on the front of the top she'd just pulled from her bag, avoided his gaze for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "Look, I want you safe, and I want you somewhere that isn't a pit of germs and biologicals and dirt, but I didn't have to get a room for two at the Sofitel."

"Suite," he corrected, and she barely fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Suite. Fine." Her palm smoothed an imaginary wrinkle, and she set the blouse aside. "My point is, there's something between us, and I think we need to figure out what it is, and... where we want to go with it. So, I found us time. And space." The way her heart thudded with nerves at even that admission was almost embarrassing, and Calleigh was just glad that her knocking pulse wasn't echoing into the room and telegraphing her tension to Eric. "But first, I'm starving. I got Wong Fun's, so why don't we just eat and you can tell me about your mom."

"Not letting that one go, huh?" He shook his head, but he was smiling at her, and the way he looked at her had shifted. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something hopeful, something more settled about him now. Calleigh began to get the feeling that she'd strung him along a bit longer than was kind.

"Not a chance, scuba boy." The last of her work clothes laid out, she tucked her bag neatly against the nightstand and moved toward him. On impulse, she reached out to grab his hand and squeeze it with hers. "Besides, I think you want to talk about it."

Eric took a deep breath then, and she watched his whole face go shadowed and pensive. "Yeah. I really do."

"Then, come on." She tugged him gently through the doorway. "I got extra wontons, just for you."

"My hero," he grinned, following her lead, as always.


	3. Chapter 3

Talking to his mother had been hard. At least, he'd thought it had been hard. Looking at her, listening to her tell him the truth – the awful truth – about his birth, about his father. He'd wanted to be mad at her, wanted to be furious, but he couldn't. It wouldn't be appropriate at work, and he knew his mother. She'd wanted what was best for him, and what was best was the lie. Rationally, logically, he could see the reasons why. But it wasn't until right now, sitting across from Calleigh as she shoveled in mouthfuls of rice and sauce and tofu while listening intently, that he realized the conversation with his mother wasn't going to be the hardest one.

No, this one was harder, and it was harder for one reason only: he didn't have a reason to hold back for Calleigh. She wasn't at fault, so he could be as mad as he wanted. It wouldn't hurt her. He could be as hurt as he wanted; it wouldn't break her heart. So now he found himself sitting there, on the sofa of a hotel room, stabbing a piece of sesame chicken hard enough to punch a whole in the side of the carton, his chest tight with a swirl of emotion he couldn't even describe. It wasn't rage, wasn't betrayal, wasn't hurt, wasn't loneliness or desperation or… it was everything. All of it. All at once, weighing down, squeezing tight until he felt like he could barely breathe.

"She… All my life, Cal. _All my life._ And nobody told me. Nobody said _anything_." He thunked the now-slowly-oozing carton onto the coffee table, no longer hungry. There was too much bitterness burning in his gut for him to be hungry. It didn't surprise him that Calleigh reached over calmly and settled the carton on top of the plastic bag she'd brought the food in. Wouldn't want to make a fucking mess, after all. He was enough of a mess for the hotel room to deal with. "Mari died knowing this, and she never said a word. And I'm angry with her for it. How sad is that? Angry at a dead woman for not spilling the family secrets on her deathbed." Calleigh opened her mouth to say something, and Eric had a sudden flash of temper. "And don't tell me her death was sudden, because it wasn't. She was dying for months; she could have told me any time before that day."

"That's not what I was going to tell you," Calleigh replied evenly, reaching over and taking his hands in hers, squeezing them gently. A part of him was pissed that she was so damned calm about all this; the rest of him was grateful to have the anchor.

"What, then?"

"I was going to tell you that it's okay to be mad." Her grip on his fingers tightened, and he squeezed back so hard he was surprised she didn't wince. "You were kept in the dark about something vital. You can be angry at whoever you want right now. I would be. I'd be mad at everyone who knew, everyone who might have known, everyone who _should_ have known."

"I feel bad for being angry at Mari," he confessed, releasing the grip on her hands until his hung limp in Calleigh's and lowering his gaze to watch her run her thumbs in a slow back-and-forth meant to soothe. "The others, I don't feel bad about. But Mari… I'm angry, and I'm angry that I'm angry."

"Well, nobody likes to think ill of the dead," Calleigh reasoned, still stroking. It struck Eric suddenly how soft her hands were, and he wondered why in the hell that was what he was thinking of right now. Didn't matter. "Especially when they're _our_ dead."

"Yeah," he scoffed, shaking his head and pulling his hands from hers. She let him go; he wished she hadn't. Eric turned his head, looked out the window at the darkening sky over the ocean. The moon was bright tonight. Not full, but bright, and he wondered how many people were crossing the water the way his parents and sisters had. The way _he_ had. "I was three weeks old when they came over. You know how I know that, Cal?"

"Your birth certificate." Her voice was quiet, understanding. It made him want to hurt her too, at the same time it made him feel less violent. The dichotomy was maddening. Eric didn't know what to do with all of this, how to process it.

"Birth _certificates_," he emphasized the plural. "My American – my _fake_ birth certificate… says my birthday is the day they arrived here. Had to be, for me to be a citizen." He met her eyes again, churning brown against placid green. "I was born exactly twenty-two days earlier. My whole life, I've celebrated by birthday twenty-two days late. I've lied on every form I've ever filled out. Lied about my date of birth, lied about my citizenship – I'm not even American, Calleigh." He reached blindly for her hand again; she met him halfway and this time hers was the crushing grip. "I'm a Cuban citizen. I'm here illegally; they could deport me."

"They won't," she assured, tugging him until he shifted sideways on the couch to face her. They mirrored each other almost perfectly, both with one foot on the floor, one knee on the couch, hands and knees touching. Eric wondered if moving his foot to touch hers would close some kind of circuit, make the room spark up and flame.

"You don't know that."

"Wet foot, dry foot, Eric. You're legal. You're just not..."

"A citizen."

Calleigh extracted one hand from his and lifted it to cup his cheek, then slid it around the back of his neck and began to knead the tight muscles there. For all their deceptive softness, her hands were plenty strong, and Eric couldn't resist letting his eyes drop shut. "Don't worry about it tonight."

"How am I supposed to face my family – my _fath—_" He chuckled dryly, shook his head. "No. Not my father. Because Pavel Delko is not my father. My father is some factory manager in Cuba, and all my mother will tell me is that he's a bad man."

Eric couldn't sit anymore, couldn't bear to be lulled by her proximity, by her touch. He was still too edgy. One hand looped around her wrist, drew her hand away before he pushed to his feet and began to pace. "You know what she said, Cal? She said it was a mistake. And I don't know what that means. I was afraid to ask what that means. Did she cheat on my father? Was she _raped_? Is _that_ what I come from?"

"It wouldn't change you," she told him, and for a second he saw red. What in the hell was that supposed to mean? How could she _possibly_ think it wouldn't change him to be a product of something ugly and brutal instead of the love and devotion he'd always thought he came from. "It wouldn't change who you are. None of this does."

"_Yes_. It does."

"No, Eric," she insisted, shifting closer to the end of the couch, but staying firmly rooted while she watched him prowl the room. "It really doesn't. You are still Eric Delko, and nothing can-"

"Sharova. Eric Sharova."

"No. You're Eric Delko. It doesn't matter where your DNA comes from, your _dad_ is Pavel Delko."

"I'm not a Delko," Eric insisted, hating the way his voice strained at the admission.

"You're not a Delektorsky," she corrected, and Eric paused in his pacing to look at her. "The family name was changed to Delko when they came here, and that included you. Whatever your legal name might have been when you were ninety miles south of here, when your parents brought your family here for a better life, they became the Delkos. And you are absolutely, completely, a Delko." She'd apparently tired of being passive, because she stood now, too, walking to him and drawing him into a tight hug. Eric held on desperately, gripped her like a drowning man. "Whatever happened in Cuba, your parents brought you here. They brought you here because they loved you, all of you, because you were theirs. Whatever happened there, it doesn't change what happened when you got here. It doesn't make you less of the man you were yesterday, or a month ago, or a year ago. You are still Eric Delko. You are still the best underwater recovery officer in the MDPD, you are still a brother and a son and a friend, you are still _my_ best friend. You still burn the roof of your mouth on your pizza every time, and leave half-finished crosswords in my locker for me to finish, and eat rocky road until you're ready to puke because that's what friends do. You were still Tim Speedle's best friend, still Alexx Woods' 'little cup o' Cubano.'" He felt her smirk against his shoulder, and was shocked to find his lips twitching up in response. She caught the shadow of a smile when she pulled back to look at him. "There is _nothing_ about who you are that is fundamentally changed by knowing that your DNA doesn't come from Pavel Delektorsky."

She was right. And wrong. He _was_ fundamentally changed by this; nothing would ever be the same for him. But he was still… himself. The realization was a small relief, easing a bit of the tightness in his chest, making the burn of anger simmer down to a low flame. "Thank you."

Her arms, still looped around him, tightened in a quick squeeze. "You don't have to thank me." He expected her to pull back, but she didn't. Instead she dropped her head to his shoulder and rested there, the heat of her body warming the skin where they pressed together, even through layers of cotton.

"I'm still angry at them." One of his arms slid down to circle her waist and hold, the other sliding up to tangle fingers in her hair.

"That's okay. That's expected. It's allowed."

They stayed that way for either seconds or years, Eric wasn't sure, and then finally Calleigh pulled back. She stepped away, offered him a smile, and then turned to close up their take-out containers. He watched her, frowning. He'd gone cold where she'd made him warm, and wanted that rectified. "We gonna talk about the other thing now?"

"The other thing?" She closed the last container and was balling up their napkins to toss into an empty carton.

"Us."

Calleigh paused, turned, hesitated. "Eric, you've had a long day. I think maybe one intense discussion is enough for tonight. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow night, we'll talk it out. I promise."

Knowing that she was probably right, that if he tried to have another long, drawn-out emotional talk his brain would probably turn to oatmeal and begin to leak out his ears, he just nodded his agreement. "Okay."

She abandoned the food to take his hands in hers again. "Let's just relax tonight. There's another TV in the bedroom. We can put on our pajamas, order a movie, and just…be. Just relax."

"Okay. Yeah, that's good. That'll be good." She smiled at him, squeezed his hands tight before trying to let go. Eric kept her fingers gripped in his, used them to tug her a little closer. "But I feel I should warn you… If we spend the night tucked in bed watching movies, I might try to kiss you."

Calleigh's smile was slow and shy and sly, and she fidgeted just a little as she pulsed her fingers around his. "If you play your cards right, I might let you." His chuckle spread to her, and this time when she pulled her hands away, he let her go. "Now go change. I'll finish up in here and be along in a minute."

Eric nodded, and did as he was told, retreating into the bedroom and thanking God that she had decided to get this hotel room. Another night at the Deluca had nothing on catharsis and Calleigh.


	4. Chapter 4

The sheets underneath her cheek were not her usual, and they didn't smell like her. She knew the smell, though, and it settled her. Warm, familiar. Eric. The Sofitel. His arm was draped over her side, and their shared body heat had gathered under the covers to make her feel just a little too warm, almost sweaty. And she really, really had to pee.

He was curled behind her, not quite spooning but closer than would be considered friendly. She'd have to disentangle herself to get to the bathroom, and then he might wake up. And then he'd move, rearrange into a more appropriate and platonic position, and she wouldn't be able to close her eyes and pretend this was easy. Pretend deciding what to do about Eric was easy.

Truth be told, she was grateful that he hadn't tried to kiss her during the movie – what of the movie she'd managed to stay awake for, anyway. She'd have let him; that hadn't been a lie. But it would have made things even more complicated than they already were, and Calleigh really wanted to be able to talk things out with Eric before they abandoned the baby steps for actual steps. Not that she knew what to say to him. How exactly was she supposed to explain that she was scared of dating him – almost as scared as she was of _not_ dating him? How much sense did that make? And there were the issues of professionalism, of IAB, of –

Behind her, Eric made a soft sound of… something. Discomfort? Fear? And then he shifted closer, until his body was flush against hers, one leg nudging hers until they tangled together. Calleigh couldn't help lacing her fingers with his, drawing his arm up until it was nestled against her chest, their joined fists pressed to her collarbone. She tried to tell herself she did it to soothe him – and it did, his body relaxed immediately – but she knew better. She did it because it had been too long since she'd been held like this, and with the way she'd been spiraling lately, she so desperately needed to be held.

Unfortunately, she also desperately needed to pee, and if she waited much longer, she'd be in trouble. Weighing the need for comfort against the need to answer the blaring and insistent call of nature, Calleigh decided she'd spent plenty of nights consoling herself and been just fine, so she began to ease herself from his grasp. His arm tightened immediately around her, drawing her back against his chest.

"Where y'going?" he rumbled into her hair, voice thick and rough with sleep.

"I need to use the bathroom," she whispered to him, reaching back with one hand and stroking down the back of his skull, his neck, before bringing her hand back around to lace with his.

"You'll come back?" He was still slurring, and she found it rather adorable.

"Of course." Cal squeezed his fingers with hers, then drew his arm from her. "I'll just be a minute. Keep the bed warm, okay?"

His only response was a sleepy grunt, but he pulled her pillow in close to his chest as soon as she had abandoned the cocooned warmth of the bed for the air-conditioned chill of the room. The gesture made Calleigh smile, and she couldn't resist the impulse to lean down and press a quick kiss to his brow before heading for the bathroom.

She did her business, then brushed her teeth – something she hadn't done before they settled in for the movie. Staring into the mirror with tired eyes, she studied herself. She looked worn, a little pale. She'd blame it on the interrupted sleep if she hadn't been looking at this same face in her mirror every morning for weeks now. She'd grown older, colder, more weary, just bone-tired lately. And at night she dreamt. Relived her kidnapping, relived the moment William Campbell's hand slipped from hers, relived the tense minutes between getting the call that Eric had been shot and was being rushed to the hospital and the moment he woke. Always with different results. And if it wasn't those dreams, if it wasn't the nightmares, it was the other dreams. The hot, lusty, oh-so-vivid dreams of Eric that made her wake sweaty and wet and unsatisfied. It was no wonder she looked tired; she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in months.

When she flipped off the bathroom light, the room was plunged into near-perfect darkness, and Calleigh made the mistake of thinking she could make it to the bed blind. She whacked hard into something – the leg of a chair, maybe? – and cursed ripely into the silence as pain bloomed up from her toes.

"You okay?" She heard the covers shift, and then the bedside light flipped on. Looking up from where she was half-bent over and wincing, she found Eric squinting at her against the light.

"Yeah, I just… bashed my toe." She wiggled her toes, winced, decided nothing was broken and half-limped back to her side of the bed. Once she was safely under the covers, he flipped the light off again, and – just as she'd suspected he would – stayed safely on his side of the bed.

"Want some aspirin?" he asked quietly, and she felt a gentle brush of fingertips along her spine. Soothing, but hesitant.

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." She rolled to face him, though she couldn't quite make him out in the dark. "Sleep."

He didn't answer, and for a long time she thought he'd fallen back asleep. She was not so lucky. Five minutes passed, ten, and she was still wide-awake and brooding. With a sigh, she shifted onto her back. Another five minutes later, she was on her side again, back to him this time, squirming to find a comfortable position. It was no use; she knew why she couldn't sleep. He was too close and not close enough. She missed the warmth of him against her, missed the protective weight of that arm across her.

Another despondent sigh, and she shifted a little closer to the middle of the bed, hoping to glean some of his body heat. She turned her face against the pillow that smelled so much of him now and breathed in deeply.

"Still awake?"

Calleigh turned her head toward his voice and frowned. "Am I keeping you up?"

"Mm. Wha's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I'm… restless. I can move to the couch…" She really hoped he wouldn't let her. She'd never sleep out there.

"Weren't restless before," he murmured, his palm settling against her back and rubbing gently. Calleigh pressed into the touch and said nothing. If she asked him to hold her, she'd sound needy. She didn't want to be needy, not even with him. "Come here," he urged a moment later, tugging her arm until she was on her back, then reaching across her to try to get her to roll again.

Calleigh followed, shifting until she was curled against his side, her head pillowed on his chest, one leg woven between his. The steady lub-dub of his heart played counterpoint to the quick jack-hammer of hers, as she draped an arm across his body. He wrapped one arm around her waist, the other lifting to trace through her hair. It was exactly what she wanted, but… "Eric…"

"Shhh," he cut her off. "It's my turn now. Let me be there for you." She felt his lips against her hair before he rested his chin there, and was swamped with the sudden urge to cry. Relief, grief, gratitude. She wasn't sure which. "Get some rest, okay?"

With a deep, shaky breath, she nodded against him, bringing her hand up to grip behind his shoulder, and trusting that in the morning he'd have the decency not to mention the desperation with which she held on. When she finally slipped into sleep a few minutes later, it was deep and dreamless.


	5. Chapter 5

If Eric could have formed a thought, he was certain it would have had something to do with gratitude and bliss and promising God he'd be a much better man from now on as a thank you for what he found himself in the middle of. He was in bed with Calleigh Duquesne, kick-ass-and-take-names Calleigh Duquesne, and she was doing this thing with her tongue against the hollow of his throat that made his world spin a little. Her scent was all around him, flowers and sex, and the sounds she was making were just about the hottest thing he'd ever heard. Delicate little moans and gasps that escaped in puffs of breath to punctuate the rocking rhythm of their hips.

She was hot as summer, slick and slippery as he pumped in and out of her at a pace that was somewhere above slow but still below driving. He wasn't sure quite how they'd gotten here, but knew it had started in the dark, with tentative kisses and experimental touches. Then his palm had covered her breast, and it had all just rolled on from there, gaining speed like an avalanche until they found themselves naked and drowning in deep, wet kisses as he pushed into her and swallowed her eager moan.

Now her hands were flitting restlessly over his back, her hips bucking up to meet each thrust of his, and God, every time they met, she moaned or gasped or grunted, and he had to half block it out in order to keep from coming too soon. She was nipping his shoulder now, nails scoring oh-so-gently down his back as she hissed a "yes" and an "oh, God, _Eric_," and a "faster – I'm so close!"

So he pushed faster, drove harder, let himself fall into her and take in every sound and smell, crushing his mouth to hers so he could taste her.

And then the shrill blaring of the alarm clock ripped into his consciousness, and he jerked awake with a start. The bed was empty, and he could see the faintest hint of light through the crack between the drawn shades. Cursing his bad luck – and his raging hard-on – he slapped his palm onto the alarm clock. Six forty-five. Great. Just fucking great. That would give him plenty of time to jack off in the shower, assuming she didn't walk in just when he was halfway to the bathroom and create an awkward morning for both of them.

With a stretch and a frustrated grunt, he sat up, flipping on the bedside light and noticing for the first time that she'd left a note on her pillow. _How cliché_, he thought bitterly, as he lifted it and scanned the words.

"_There's a gym upstairs. Back around 7. – Cal"_

Fifteen minutes. He could do fifteen minutes. With a single-minded focus, he headed for the bathroom, turning the water on hot and stripping down. He stepped under the spray, and felt only slightly guilty when he used a dollop of her conditioner to lube up the process as he turned toward the shower wall, pressing one arm to the tile and resting his head against it. He closed his eyes, gripped himself, and tried to bring back his dream – or any of the thousands before.

Dream Calleigh had lost some of her luster, her soft pants and groans not enough to pitch him over now that he was good and awake, so he resorted to his fallback. Not that there was anything wrong with the fallback, no sir… Calleigh kissing him hard and hot in the ballistics lab, moaning reluctantly against his mouth, gasping when he sucks fierce kisses down her neck.

"Eric, not here," she breathes, as one of her legs rises to tangle around his and help her grind against him. "We could get caught."

"We won't," he insists, hands already at her waist, making quick work of her button and zipper and shoving the waist of her pants down before lifting her to sit on the test-firing counter.

Her mouth is against his again, needy, lusty, oh-so-enthusiastic, and he hears rather than sees the way she reaches behind herself and blindly pops the magazine from the gun she's been testing, setting the safety before plopping it down beside her again and reaching for his pants. If anything, it just makes him harder for her.

Her shirt comes off and he cups her breasts, teasing the nipples and watching her suck in a breath and moan, her head tipping back so he can cover her neck with kisses again. She fumbles with his belt, distracted by his hands, murmuring how good it feels, how much she wants him, and then he's free and tugging her right to the edge so he can push into her and begin a quick and steady pace.

She grunts at the invasion, but it turns into a heady moan, and soon she's burying her face against his neck, and scraping her nails against the cotton of his shirt, babbling against his skin for him to go harder, faster, deeper, and oh god, oh yes, just like that and, oh!

Eric came with a groan, hand clenching into a fist against the shower wall, breath coming quick and heavy. The fallback never failed. After a moment, his breathing steadied again, and he ran his palm under the spray, rinsing off conditioner and come, swiping his hand over the wall to catch what he spent there.

Relaxed again, if not completely satisfied, he made quick work of the rest of his shower, emerging five minutes later with a towel slung around his hips. Calleigh had just walked into the bedroom, and the way she stopped and gaped just slightly would have pleased the hell out of him if he hadn't been so distracted by her short shorts and sweat-slicked skin.

She recovered quickly, and he tried not to let his thoughts stray to other ways he could get her that flushed and sweaty. "Morning," she greeted with a smile. "You look refreshed."

"Yeah, fresh as a daisy," he smirked, one hand still gripping where his towel was fastened at his hips.

"I think I'm going to follow your lead. I look… less than fresh."

"Nah, you look good." Damn good, to be honest. Almost edible.

She scoffed, rolled her eyes, and turned to open the closet, treating Eric to the back view. He'd known she had a great ass, but those shorts clung just right, and… Okay, down boy. There's no way to hide a stiffy in a towel, so this thought train is gonna have to be derailed. "Yeah, I look so attractive. And I'm sure eau de elliptical is really the scent to make the guys go wild."

"You'd be surprised," he told her, settling onto the edge of the bed as she pulled out slacks and a blouse, glancing at him almost shyly before bending over – thank God – and retrieving underwear from the bag she'd tucked in the bottom of the closet.

"You find stinky to be sexy?" she teased as she stood back up, whatever awkwardness she'd felt a moment before successfully pushed aside.

"Not stinky, but there is something about a hot and sweaty woman that is kind of attractive."

She just paused on her way to the bathroom and quirked a brow at him.

"Reminds me of sex," he filled in with a wink, watching her blush and shift her pile of clothes to cover her just a little bit more. Smirking at her again, he nodded toward the bathroom. "Go freshen up, then. Prove that you're sexier when you're all fresh and clean. Plus, it'll give me a chance to take care of this whole no-clothes thing I've got going on."

With a chuckle she headed for the bathroom again, asking as she went, "What if I like that no-clothes thing you've got going on."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm." She turned to him in the doorway, threw him a wink. "Reminds me of sex."

The door closed behind her with a soft click and Eric flopped back on the bed, laughing quietly to himself. Oh, he liked this new, flirty Calleigh. He liked her a lot.


	6. Chapter 6

The ritual made this easier, made it more comfortable. Sure, the combination of anxious nerves and extra pepperoni would probably give her heartburn, but the tradition of pizza and beer with Eric was familiar. Nice. Reassuring.

Eric had burned the roof of his mouth, as always; he was ahead of her by one beer, as always. The only deviation from the norm was the lack of a movie, and the slight tension. She'd told him they'd talk tonight, about them, but so far all they'd talked about was the case they were working on, and – lord, help them – the weather lately. In their defense, the weather was sudden and intense – rain had swept in during the late afternoon, building to a thunderstorm that kept illuminating the room like flash bulbs. Rain drove in sheets against the windows of their suite, and the lack of visibility outside the glass made Calleigh feel like they were in some kind of suspended isolation. Like their hotel room existed in the ether somewhere, outside of time. It was… nice. Especially considering the topic they'd have to get around to eventually.

"I love storms like this," he told her. "The older I get, the more I like them."

She wiped any remnants of sauce from her mouth then shifted on the couch until she was facing him, feet tucked against herself, hands still fiddling almost absently with the beer bottle cradled in her lap. "Me too. I think they're sexy," she admitted with a smirk.

"Mm. I agree." He swigged his beer and angled his body more toward hers as well. "Cal, are we going to talk about the weather all night?"

"No."

"Then can we… move on to the topic we're avoiding? I'm going crazy over here."

As always, his ability to just own up and speak his piece was something she envied. This would be a much easier conversation for him than for her. "Yeah, we… Yes. Let's."

"Okay." He sipped his beer. She peeled the label on hers, and tried to think of what to say. Too many things to articulate, no clear place to start. Silence hung between them for a few long minutes. "Now?"

She chuckled a little at that, nodding. "I'm sorry, I… I was trying to figure out where to… I don't really know what to say first. I've never had this conversation."

Okay. Let's start with this: I'm in love with you."

Heat and nerves seared into Calleigh's gut, and she lifted the bottle to her lips, hoping cool beer would soothe the burn. It didn't really. "Yeah, I… I knew that. I've known that for a while now. I did read your file that day."

"I figured." He reached for her, snagged her ankle and drew her foot into his lap. It was a little more intimate than she'd have liked for this particular conversation, but then he began to knead his thumbs along her arch and she decided it felt too good to make him stop. It wasn't as if this conversation wouldn't be intimate anyway. "You didn't know before then?"

"No, I did." She shifted, scooted down a little bit and shut her eyes. And then she wondered if that was why he'd done it – so she could shut her eyes, shut him out just a little while she finally let him in. "You were so jealous of Jake; it was obvious. We'd always been attracted to each other, but I'd never seen you like that before. Not about me. It hurt. It was like…" She sighed, tried to gather her thoughts. She hadn't meant to talk about this. "It was like I'd lost my best friend. All of a sudden, I couldn't talk to you. And there were so many times I wanted to talk to you, which is… new. But I was afraid it would hurt you, or that what was said would hurt me. So I couldn't."

"I never knew you felt that way." His voice had gone softer, sympathetic. Sweet.

"I tend to play it close to the chest. You know that."

"Yeah. You do." He stroked his palm over the top of her foot, toes to ankle, then back, before continuing his massage. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"No," she insisted, shaking her head and meeting his gaze then. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I just… I had to live my life. But it killed me that it hurt you. That it hurt _us_. You've always been one of the few people that I always knew I could count on, and when things are strained between us… it shakes my foundation." He pressed just right with his thumbs and her eyes fell shut again on a soft moan. The firm pressure persisted for another minute, silence descending between them again until Calleigh couldn't take it any more. "Say something."

"Me too."

"What?"

"When things are strained, its hard for me too. And I just want to be with you, but… I don't ever know where we stand. I know I love you. And I know we're perfect for each other. But I don't know anything about how you feel. One minute, I think you're right here with me, and the next… you pull back."

"Yeah, I'm, uh… distant. And moody." Her mouth drew into a frown, the rough echo of Jake's voice, of John's voice, sounding in her head. "Or so I've been told."

"Nothing wrong with moody."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. Shocked and relieved and incredibly touched, she laughed, mortified by the tearful hitch at the end. "You'd think."

He sighed, and she couldn't read the emotion behind it with her eyes shut, but she was afraid if she opened them, those tears that were aching behind them would take their chance and spill. Then he found her hand and murmured a soft, "Come here," tugging her up and into his arms, hugging her tight. Calleigh buried her face against his neck and let herself cling – just for a minute, she told herself. She'd just stay here breathing him in for a minute, and then she'd feel less raw. "You're brilliant." Well, fuck. Her chin quivered and she swallowed hard. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry, but why did he have to say things like that? Why did he have to be that guy? The good guy? The understanding guy?

"God, I love you." She froze, dread pouring over her like wax, until she was cold and still. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. She pulled back, tucked her hair nervously behind her ear and was about to fumble an apology or excuse or something hideously embarrassing when his lips silenced hers. The kiss was brief, but firm, reassuring.

"Shh. Don't. Don't take it back yet, just let me have it for a minute."

Her head fell to his shoulder again, arms winding up to band tightly around his shoulders. God, they were fucked up now, weren't they? When had that happened? They used to be so simple. He shouldn't have to ask her not to take back something that was true. Swallowing down her apprehension, and busting through a few of her walls, Calleigh let him have it again. "I love you. I don't know what I'd do without you. So now… I'd rather have you stay my friend and be in my life than date you and have you leave."

"What makes you think I'll leave?"

"I just mean… If we try this, if we date and see where it goes, and it ends badly… I'd really lose you."

She felt his quiet scoff more than heard it. "You've doomed this before it even begins."

Calleigh sighed, shook her head and pulled back. "You're just so open. And I'm… not. I don't know if I can be what you need me to be."

"I just need you to be Calleigh."

"Yeah, you say that now…"

"Hey." He caught her chin with his finger, tipped her head up to look at him. "I know you better than any of the guys you've dated lately. And I love everything about you."

And there were the tears, spilling over silent and wet. "How did I manage to get you?"

"Just lucky, I guess." He cupped her cheeks, brushed her tears away with his thumbs. Calleigh closed her eyes and half-smiled, leaning into his touch. "Will you just give me a chance, Calleigh? We could be really great together."

She hated that she was crying. It was embarrassing. "I'm sorry." He deflated, his hands falling away, and she realized suddenly how that must have sounded. "No, I mean I'm sorry about the waterworks. Yes to the other."

His lips curved up then, and the way his eyes went light and hopeful gave her heart a little much-needed thrill. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Blinking her tears under control, she reached for his hands and threaded their fingers. "I suppose we can't feel this way and keep trying to pretend we don't. That we don't… both know how we feel. It'll be Jake all over again, all the time."

He kissed her again, warm and sweet and soothing. She let herself sink into it, leaned in for a second press, then rested her forehead against his. "Don't worry about it, Cal. This is us. Let's just be us."

She nodded, pulled back, looked up at the ceiling and took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay. I'm sorry I got so… worked up."

"Don't be." He pressed his lips to her chin, skated kisses along her jaw, and she got the feeling he was just indulging in the newfound privilege. "You're allowed." He eased one hand from hers, cupping the back of her neck and insisting softly, "No more tears tonight, though, okay?" His lips brushed hers, feather-light, and she nodded before pressing into him in earnest.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing out against her lip, urging her to open for him. She did, finally indulging in the taste of Eric with a hint of beer. His hand tightened against her neck, and he changed the angle of the kiss just slightly. His other hand found her thigh, skating along the outside, up to grip her hip as she moaned softly into his mouth.

She couldn't say exactly when the shift happened or what caused it, but their kisses grew suddenly eager, more insistent, and Calleigh felt a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment or dread start to spread through her. She was panting softly when she turned her head to break the kiss, and found herself grinning when, undeterred, he sucked eager kisses down the column of her neck. "Eric," she chuckled, pushing him away just slightly.

"Hmm?" Oh, but he looked so yummy all kiss-swollen and full of anticipation.

"I know a way you can… cheer me up." Her gaze slid across the room, through the double-doors to that big, comfy bed in the next room.

His slightly-stunned look of comprehension made her grin almost as must as his, "Now? Right now? Tonight?"

"You want to wait another seven years?" she teased, ducking in for another kiss.

"Definitely not."

They chuckled against each other's mouths, and Calleigh somehow managed to untangle herself and get to her feet without breaking the kiss. Eric followed suit, settling his hands on her hips and backing her toward the bedroom – very nearly tripping them over the coffee table in the process. Calleigh laughed in earnest, rerouting them and praying that their stumbling momentum would hold out all the way to the bedroom. She was still giggling softly into his kisses when her legs bumped into the mattress. She couldn't say yet that she was entirely sure things would work out for them in the long run, but for now, there were more pressing matters to attend to.


	7. Chapter 7

If anyone had told him three hours ago that Calleigh wanted him as much as he wanted her, he'd have told them they were crazy and a liar. So imagine his surprise now that Calleigh was half reclined on the edge of the bed, one arm propping her up, the other banded tight around his neck, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulder as they devoured each other. Her breath was quick and heavy, and she was making these hungry little noises – a lot like the ones he was making, actually.

She arched into his hand as he palmed her breast, moaning softly and nipping at his bottom lip before mumbling between kisses, "I can't - get enough of - your –mm! - mouth. God." She tugged him impossibly closer and he lost his rather precarious hold on his balance, pinning her suddenly to the bed.

Threading his fingers into her hair, he delved into her mouth again, both of them snickering into the kiss. "I had no idea you – wanted me this – much."

"Yes, you did," she chided softly as she – heaven help him – brought one of her legs up to hook around his thigh and grind him against her.

"No, I really didn't." Propped on his elbows, he stroked his thumbs against her temples and ground his hips slowly against hers, watching her lashes flutter as the same sizzle of pleasure that spread through him burned in her. "I knew there was something there, but I never knew you'd be this… eager."

She brought both hands up to cup the back of his neck, weaving her fingers together there. "Nice to know I hid it well." The smile she gave him was half devious, half shy, and she whispered to him as if she was trading state secrets when she told him, "I've been dreaming of you for months. Years."

Well now, that was good for the ego. He grinned, ducking his head to plant slow, wet kisses down the column of her throat. "Do tell."

"Mmmmm, mm-mm," she refused playfully, tilting her head to give him more room. He nipped gently at her collar, and she gasped, thrilling him. What else would make her gasp, he wondered?

"That's not very nice," he mock-scolded, swirling his tongue in the hollow of her throat and feeling her swallow down a moan. "Not very… fair."

Her chuckle in response was low and throaty, and she put her hands to work tugging his shirt over his head. She was only mildly successful. "What is it they say? All's fair in love and war?"

"Yeah, but it's a big old lie." Eric pushed back up, one foot on the floor, one knee on the bed, and quickly flipped open the buttons of his shirt. "Works better this way," he smirked at her, ego good and well stroked by the way she watched him, biting down on her lower lip, eyes all dark green and lusty. God, she was a picture. "See something you like?"

"Mm. Sexy Cuban." And then, Lord help him, she decided to follow suit, letting one hand wander down her collar to begin tugging her own buttons free. "And it's only unfair to not tell you about the dreams if you've told me about yours. Which you haven't."

Oh, that was just too easy, Eric thought, shrugging off his button-down and tugging his undershirt over his head. She'd just finished her last button, so he caught her hands and leaned over her again, pinning her. He started with her mouth, because it was irresistible, trading deep, leisurely kisses until they were both panting softly again, Calleigh's hands flexing against his. Then he trailed off down her jaw and began to murmur to her. "The first one was after my first day of work."

Her tight, half-dreading "Oh, God," made him grin. She'd caught on now. Good. He chuckled, scraped teeth lightly against her pulse. "You'd been all sunny smiles, and helpful advice, and the accent." He embellished a little moan, nipping her collar again, and she shifted restlessly. He was honestly surprised she'd let him hold her down this long; Calleigh had never seemed to type to relinquish control. "I love the accent. And you were wearing this tight tank top. So sexy." His lips were wandering the swell of her breast now, sucking and nipping between phrases, tongue teasing along the lavender lace edge of her bra. "I dreamed we fucked in the ballistics lab."

Her moan was eager and full, and she shifted under him again. Still, he didn't let her up. "That's a pretty common one, actually. Sex in your lab. Dreamt of you last night and woke up hard, and imagined us in the ballistics lab to, uh, take care of things in the shower this morning."

"God, Eric," she breathed, finally wrestling her fingers free and cupping his head, trying to guide him to her nipple. "Don't tell me that." He gave her one quick nip through the lace of her bra. The little squeak she let out in response was nothing short of adorable.

"Why not?" He let one hand wander down her belly until it found the button of her slacks, tugging it free, then easing the zipper down and sliding his fingers beneath the fabric.

"Because."

"Because why?" he asked, ghosting his fingers between her legs, too light to be anything but teasing over the thin cotton under his hand. Still, her breath hitched up in anticipation.

"Because," she sighed, arching her hips toward his hand and frowning when he evaded.

"Because…?" He stroked again, with a little more pressure, watching her bite down on her lip and squeeze her eyes shut. Oh, he had her now. Another stroke, lighter this time.

"Eric, stop teasing," Calleigh breathed again, lashes fluttering.

"Tell me why."

Her answer came in a rush as she arched her hips toward him again. "Because that's what I dream about too."

Grinning triumphantly, Eric gave her one firm stroke, and she moaned eagerly, and breathed a soft encouragement. "Oh, is it?"

"Shut up," she hissed, twisting to wrestle her shirt off her arms and reaching beneath herself to deftly flip open her bra. She tugged it away before he could stop her, and Eric swallowed hard, unable to resist leaning down and swirling his tongue around a stiff, pink peak.

"Cheater," he murmured against her skin before sucking gently and earning himself a breathy moan. God, she was irresistible.

"You're one to talk," she scoffed lightly, cupping the back of his head to keep him where she wanted. He let her this time. "Getting me all riled up and then slowing down, teasing me."

"It doesn't feel good?" Her nails scraped his scalp as he nibbled lightly at her, her breath going deeper, legs winding around his again. He knew if she said no, she'd be lying.

"Too good. We have all night; tease me later."

"Mm." Now that was a sentiment he could appreciate. "Needy?"

"Fuck you."

Eric lifted his head, and frowned at her scowl. "Strong language for you. Nothing wrong with needy. I'm feeling pretty damned needy myself here." Eric took one of her hands, brought it down between them to cup his erection. "See?"

"Then why are you waiting?" She quirked a brow at him, leaving her hand there when he drew his away and starting a slow, delicious stroke against him. Suddenly her question made a hell of a lot of sense.

"Wanted to enjoy you." He crushed his lips to hers again, hotter, more urgent. "But I suppose I can do that later."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding insistently. "Yes, you can. You can enjoy all you want – later. But now… yes, I'm needy. I need you." She flicked her gaze to his, sweet and imploring, and Eric knew enough to know she was playing him but didn't mind a bit. "Please."

Unable to resist her, he nipped her bottom lip and reassured, "Okay. But I have to do something first." As he pulled away, her head fell back with a frustrated groan and he couldn't help but laugh at her. "I don't think you're going to mind this."

And then he tugged her hips all the way to the edge of the bed and knelt between her thighs, tugging her bottoms down until she was naked before him. His heart thudded heavily. He was really with Calleigh, and she was really naked. Totally naked. Totally naked, and open, and all his. And when he leaned in and pressed his tongue gently to her clit, she let out this soft little cry and clutched at him, and it was better than any of the dreams.

He took his time, teasing her with light kisses and licks, pleased to discover her _stop_ _teasing_s had turned into _yes_es and _oh_ _god_s and _more_s. Apparently he could take as much time as he wanted, so long as he was giving her the goods. He let his tongue trail down, dipped it into her once, twice, a third time, and she squirmed and gasped his name. He was tempted to reach down and pinch himself to make sure this was real, absolutely real, but he was pretty sure none of his technicolor dreams could match the hi-def reality of the way she tasted, all earthy and female, the way she squirmed and murmured, the way he moans went high and breathy when he began to plant soft, sucking kisses over her clit.

She was close, really close, and he brought one fingertip up to trail over her sex as he continued to suck at her, to flick his tongue over her, brush his lips against her. She arched toward him, and he let the finger slide in, urging a pleading, "More!" from her. Another finger and she moaned greedily, hissed her approval and pressed his head harder against her. He let his fingers stay slow and easy inside her, in and out, in and out, but upped the pressure of his mouth, sucking harder against her, quicker, until she gasped and grunted and cried out. Her hands flitted restlessly over his skull, his neck, his shoulders as she urged him on, babbling now about how close she was, how good it felt, how she needed just a little more, just a little, so close, don't stop, never stop.

And then he felt the ripple of her orgasm, her rushed words giving way to soft, keening cries of his name, over and over, and God if he hadn't been hard before, hearing Calleigh moan his name as she came would have been enough to make him hard as nails in an instant. When she'd peaked, he let up, but didn't stop. Instead, he switched back to the soft licks, the gentle kisses, reveling in the way each one made her twitch slightly as she fought to get her breath back.

"Wow," she breathed, and he looked up to see her press a hand to her forehead, then shove it into her hair, then let it fall limp against the bed. "Unh, that was what I needed."

Chuckling, he nipped his way up to her navel, pressing a kiss there before pushing back to his feet and shucking his pants. "I've wanted to do that to you for years."

Her smile was a little shy this time as she shook her head. "You have not."

"Yeah. I have." Finally as naked as she was, he nudged her knee to urge her to scoot back, covering her body with his when she complied. "Wanted to know how you'd taste, what you'd sound like, how you'd move."

He kissed her again, nipped at her bottom lip again and she smiled at him, letting her fingertips trail down his torso. "I hope I lived up to your expectations."

"Surpassed them," he assured, groaning as she wrapped her fingers around his erection and began stroking slowly. "You're incredible."

He thought she blushed a little then, but she was still flushed from her orgasm, so he couldn't quite tell. "You're not so bad yourself." Lifting her head to kiss him, she swirled her palm over his head, ran her thumb against where it met the shaft and he cursed softly against her mouth.

"Cal, stop. Or don't, but…" He quirked his brows at her, hoping she'd get the meaning: he needed more or less, but the slow stroke of her hand would be his undoing.

"Roll over," she urged, drawing her hand away. "I want to be on top."

Grinning, Eric did as he was told.


	8. Chapter 8

Calleigh wasn't sure where the sudden burst of confidence had come from. Not that she didn't love it on top – she did – but there was still enough of a demure Southern lady in her to usually let the guy lead the first time they hopped into bed. At least for the first round. Maybe it was the way she imagined his muscles would ripple as he moved beneath her, or maybe she didn't want to be quite so close and intimate after the intimacy of crying on his shoulder. Or maybe she was just still a little brain-fried from the delectable oral sex. Regardless, she'd taken the reins, and she wasn't about to make herself look silly by handing them back over, so she straddled him and reached between them to give him another slow, measured stroke. She was secretly pleased by the way his palms settled against her hips, fingers splaying across her rear. His thumbs stroked her hips, and he moaned softly before tugging her gently toward him.

Getting the message, she guided him to her, looking away when those brown eyes caught hers, open and honest, and oh-so-in-love. That was a little too much right now. She needed to focus on one drastic shift in their relationship at a time, and the imminent sex was much more pressing. His breath grew heavier when she hovered for just a moment, his head nestled against her but not in her, and then she let herself sink down slowly, moaning with him as he filled her. Her eyes dropped shut, teeth catching her lip as she let herself savor the feel of him inside her, just-big-enough but not too big. Thunder cracked outside just as she settled over him to the hilt, and something about it made her giggle. She couldn't help it.

When she felt the slight convulsion of his own chuckle, she let her eyes blink open again to find him grinning at her. "Think that was a sign?"

"Mm. If it happens again when I… you know…"

"Scream my name while you come?" he supplied with a cheeky grin.

Calleigh scoffed at him. "Big promises there."

And then he drew his hips down and arched them up into her again, and she brought her palms to his chest to steady herself as she gasped and moaned. "I dream big."

"Not unreasonable," she conceded, drawing herself up and down slowly, then a little faster, settling into an easy rhythm. Each stroke made pleasure bloom in her, radiating out in thrilling little waves. She moaned a little with each one, and couldn't help watching his face as his grunts and gasps echoed her.

She flushed warm at the way he looked at her, the way he couldn't seem to settle on one spot, gaze flicking over her with increasing heat. He watched her breasts bounce, and licked his lips. Watched his palms coast over her thighs and sighed her name. Watched where they joined and groaned and bucked up into her faster, harder, until she was crying out and scraping her nails against his torso, toes curling, waves of pleasure crashing faster and harder over her. Oh this was good, this was so good.

"God, Calleigh," he groaned, one hand slithering up her torso to tangle in her hair and tug her down to kiss him. She gasped into his mouth as the shift in angle made her clit grind against him with each stroke, moving her hands to brace beside his head so she could grind and buck harder.

"Unh! So good!" she breathed, catching his lips over and over again in rhythm with her hips, their low cries of pleasure echoing in the slim space between kisses. The room flashed bright with lightning again, a loud crack of thunder echoing afterward to send a thrill buzzing down her spine. The lights flickered and she pulled back just a little to look at him. If the lights went out, she wanted to remember the way his face looked right now, right before he came, right before _she_ came.

Another flicker, and they flared back full, and Eric's hands gripped her rear and begin to guide her over him harder, faster, pushing himself deeper, and her hands were restless now. She gripped his shoulder, the pillow, the mattress, him again, anything, everything. A slight shift of her hips and the pressure on her clit was just right, and she heard her own moans turn to low shouts and then soft screams as she flew up, and up, and then peaked on his name. The world seemed to snap, spreading out and rubbering back into focus, and she could feel each sharp ripple of pleasure, feel the hard, strong length of him as it continued to thrust through clenching muscles, she heard his encouraging grunts, his _yes_es, his _that's it_s, his _god yes, come for me_s, and then she heard the loud grunt and groan of his near-orgasm, heard the way he moaned her name, and it gave her a ridiculous second wind. She levered back up and rode hard and quick, gasping as she lifted her hands to pile her hair up away from her sweaty neck.

He immediately brought a hand between her thighs, pressing his thumb to her clit, and letting her grind against it as she bucked and moaned, faster, faster, and she could feel another orgasm rising, higher and higher and almost and then he moaned her name again and gripped her hips, arching up into her as he came just a little too soon. Damnit.

He collapsed, panting, and she slowed to a stop, chewing her bottom lip and breathing heavily. She'd been close enough to still feel edgy and unsatisfied, which was probably unfair after two orgasms, but… well…

"What?" he questioned breathily, trailing his fingers over her sweaty belly.

Calleigh cursed herself for letting him read her. Or maybe cursed him for being so perceptive, finally. She wasn't sure which. Schooling her features into a smile, she shook her head. "What what?"

He didn't buy it, simply leveled her with a look. "Calleigh."

Sighing, she shifted off of him, moaning softly as he slipped out of her. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"No way," he protested, tugging her arm to throw off her balance and leave her tumbling against him. "Tell me."

"It's really nothing. I was close again, that's all." She smiled at him again, honestly this time, and pressed her lips to his.

With a speed that surprised her this soon after sex, he flipped her onto her back and pinned her to the mattress. "Oh, were you?" he grinned playfully. "Well. Can't let you go unsatisfied."

He shifted to lay alongside her, and Calleigh watched with anticipation as his palm skated down her belly. "I wouldn't call two orgasms unsatisfied…"

"But you want another, yeah?" He let his fingers press over her clit, giving her a few slow, firm rubs to ratchet her pulse back up.

"Uh huh," she heard herself breathe, squeezing her eyes shut at the friction and spreading her thighs to give him more room.

She felt his breath against her ear a moment later, and he caught her lobe gently with his teeth for murmuring to her, "All you ever have to do is ask." And then he slid two fingers inside her and moaned when she gasped. "Mm, Cal, you're so wet."

"Yeah," she sighed, arching against him and feeling like her brain had just leaked out her ears to leave her dumb and stumbling over her tongue. When he anchored his hand with a thumb against her clit and began a steady in-and-out with his fingers, she moaned and slid a hand over to grip his thigh. "Yeah… mmm…"

He was sucking at her earlobe again, nibbling along the shell of her ear. Jesus. "Is that good, or do you want more?"

She nodded eagerly, managed a moan of "more" and felt her thighs begin to tremble when he eased a third finger inside her, and picked up the pace. It didn't take long for the first ripples of pleasure to shimmer through her, and with a slight shift of his fingers, he found the spot that rocketed her over the edge with a sudden cry. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping his thigh hard, and he was murmuring something in her ear but she couldn't make it out. And then he eased off, sliding his fingers over her in a slow, soothing stroke and pressing kisses behind her ear again.

"Better?" he rumbled against her skin.

"Mmm," she agreed gratefully, her heart fluttering slightly when he nestled her side closer against him and nuzzled into her hair.

"Promise me something?"

"Hmm?" She turned her head, waited for him to shift so she could kiss him softly.

"Never hesitate to ask for what you want." He pecked her lips again. "Anything you want."

She hummed her agreement, and shifted to face him, tangling their legs and draping her arm over his ribs. "I promise. Did you… enjoy me?" Calleigh asked with a quirk of her brow. "Like you wanted?"

"Hardly," he grinned, easing her onto her back again and nibbling along her neck in a way that made her shiver. "I've barely even started…"

Feeling lighter than she had in weeks, Calleigh chuckled softly, and wound her arms around his neck. She had a feeling that dating Eric was going to make life a lot more fun.


	9. Chapter 9

As far as Eric was concerned, the elevator couldn't rise fast enough. After an hour of mind-blowing, sweat-slicking sex, Calleigh had developed a sudden yen for chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. After discovering the hotel room service offered only chocolate, vanilla, and mint ice creams, Eric offered to make a run to the nearest store; Calleigh had smiled sweetly and agreed to stay right where she was and not move a muscle. He'd taken longer than he'd planned, though – he couldn't find chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in any store within walking distance, and he hadn't taken the car.

Just about to give up and settle for rocky road, he had spied a cheesecake sampler gleaming like a beacon on the pastry counter of a local store. The perfect substitute, it had half-slices of eight different flavors – chocolate chip cookie dough included. Now he was antsy to get back to their room and nibble it off her naked body, bite by delectable bite.

Bouncing slightly with pent-up energy, he watched the floor numbers light up one by one. Three more floors, two more, one. Finally, the elevator dinged, and he trotted out like a horse from the gate.

He let himself into their room, greeting her with his best Ricky Ricardo. "Lucy, I'm hom—You're not naked," he deflated as soon as he reached the door, frowning when she laughed. When he'd left, she was fabulously naked, tucked under the sheets, and now she was in one of his t-shirts, legs still under the sheets, remote control in hand as she clicked through the channels.

"Very observant," she teased, flipping off the TV and tossing the comforter down to the end of the bed, before scooting over to make room for him.

"You were naked when I left," he pouted, setting the box of cheesecake aside and shrugging out of shoes, shirt, jeans. She watched attentively, head tilted slightly to one side, lips curved in a satisfied smile. How could something so simple make a man feel so Adonis-like? Maybe it was just that it was Calleigh, and that the look was so new.

"I was," she mused, beckoning him, and grinning when -- now down to only his black boxer-briefs – he grabbed the box and settled on the bed next to her. "But then you took a while, and I felt silly laying here naked all by myself. What's that?"

"I couldn't find cookie dough ice cream," he told her, and that beautiful face drew into a disappointed frown. "But I did find…" Eric pulled the box from the plastic bag and set it on his thighs. "A cheesecake sampler."

Calleigh's green eyes lit up and went wide. "Ooh!"

"And-" He flipped the box open. "It has chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake."

Her jaw dropped, one hand reaching over to trace the edge of the box almost reverently. "You're a god."

Laughing, Eric pointed out the rest of the flavors. "And there's plain, and strawberry, and Oreo, and… fudge ripple, and white chocolate raspberry, peanut butter cup, and dulce de leche."

By the end she was practically salivating, and he couldn't resist ducking his head in to steal a kiss from her open mouth. She let him, leaning into the kiss and matching his enthusiasm – until the cheesecake box began to slide off his lap as he shifted. She wrenched out of the kiss then, quick as lightning, and grabbed the box before it plummeted the few inches to the mattress. Eric couldn't help but laugh at her. "Wow. You're really into that cheesecake, huh?"

"More like I don't want to sleep on sheets that have been covered in cheesecake and gooey topping," she corrected, steadying the box on his lap and the shimmying off the bed. The movement bunched her t-shirt until the bare curve of her ass was visible, and Eric smirked. At least she was still naked _under_ the t-shirt. "Be right back."

"First she gets dressed, then she leaves the bed," he sighed overdramatically. "This night is going downhill."

He heard her laugh from the bathroom before she emerged seconds later with one of the towels slung over her shoulder. "You know, you keep up the harping, I'm going to think you just want me for my fabulous sexual prowess."

Eric burst out laughing, something about her brazen confidence making him feel light and damn lucky that she was his. "Hey, you're the one who jumped me as soon as we got back from work."

She draped the towel between them, then stretched out alongside it, catlike grin on her face as she nabbed the box from his lap and plunked it onto the towel. "Not my fault. You kept giving me that look all day."

"What look?" Eric tried to look innocent.

"The 'I want you right here, right now' look," she supplied helpfully, turning her attention to the sampler and mulling over her choices like she was planning a war-time invasion of enemy territory, not the annihilation of high calorie desserts.

Scooting down until he was even with her, and propping himself on his elbow, he murmured in that tone of voice that seemed to make her shiver every time he used it during sex, "Actually, it means 'I wonder what she'd do if I bent her over the evidence table, stripped her naked, and licked her until she came.'"

She froze, jaw dropping open slightly, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way her thighs squeezed together just slightly. Gotcha. Green eyes flicked to brown. "That's cheating."

"Why? Because it gets you hot?"

"Yes. And you know it. Do we have forks?"

Damnit. He knew he'd forgotten something. "Uh, no. Sorry. We can call down to room service…"

She just shrugged and reached for the slice of cookie dough, nabbing a chunk from the end with her fingers. "No need." When she popped it into her mouth and flopped onto her back to let out a satisfied moan, he grinned and shook his head.

"Looks like that gets you hot, too." She looked at him, swallowing and then grinning back, nodding. "So… cheesecake and naughty talk, huh? What else? I'm still learning what makes Calleigh Duquesne all hot and bothered."

"Oh no. No way. I'm not helping you. You'll use it against me." She reached over for another piece, snatching some of the strawberry and very nearly dropping the topping onto her shirt. He remembered his original plan to use her as a buffet plate and reached over to slide the t-shirt up her belly. Unfortunately for him, she had other plans, swatting his hands away. "Uh-uh. I'm eating right now."

"I could be eating right now," he pointed out, arching one brow suggestively and watching her blush just slightly.

"That would distract me from my cheesecake." Speaking of, she was sucking the sticky strawberry juice from her fingers now in a way that went straight to his groin. "Besides you already did that. Twice."

"I did, didn't I?" he mused, all smug self-confidence. "I could do it a third time…"

"You could," she agreed with a roll of her eyes. "But if we keep it up like this all week, I'm going to be so sore I do that wincing thing that is a dead giveaway to other women. And then we'd be outed, and it would get back to IAB, and-"

"Oh, alright," he chuckled, tugging her shirt back down and reaching for the dulce de leche cheesecake. Their fingers bumped as she reached for the same piece, and he nudged hers away as he liberated some of the gooey-sweet dessert and lifted it to her lips. Smiling, she let him pop it in her mouth, but caught his wrist before he could draw it away. He watched her taste, chew, swallow, and then she tugged his hand back to her lips and sucked the caramel off his fingers, and Eric had to swallow hard. "If we're not going to have sex again, you might want to stop that…" he warned quietly as she flicked her tongue against his fingertips.

Releasing his hand, she shrugged a shoulder, reaching out to nab a piece for him and bringing it to his mouth. "Play your cards right, maybe I'll change my mind… After the cheesecake." Eric savored for just a moment before swallowing the cheesecake and nibbling at her fingertips. "So… what turns _you_ on?"

Eric swirled his tongue over the pad of her thumb and answered honestly, "You," before working his way down to her wrist with slow, sucking kisses.

Calleigh rolled her eyes, but couldn't quite hide the way her lashes fluttered as his tongue circled her pulse point. "Flatterer."

"It's true."

"What else?" She tugged her arm away and sampled a piece of the Oreo cheesecake. Judging by the look on her face, it met her approval.

"Hmm… Thunderstorms. The way women-" he caught himself, and rerouted as he reached for more cheesecake. "The way _you_ sound when you come. And sexy lingerie."

She perked up a little at that. "Favorite item?"

"Of lingerie?"

"Yeah." She reached for the raspberry now. She was really going to hit all of them before doubling back, wasn't she?

"Garter belts. A thong, a garter belt, a sexy bra, and thigh highs. That's the hottest thing after naked."

"Really?" She was grinning at him now, in a way so devious he couldn't help but prod.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just happen to own all those things." She lifted a piece of the peanut butter cup, and he was almost too distracted by the image of Calleigh all tarted up in sexy skivvies to eat it. Her grin widened as he ate, and she shook her head at him. "Men. You're all so easy."

"Will you wear it for me?"

"Maybe."

"Will you buy something special just for me?"

"No need. I have… more than enough."

Eric quirked a brow at that, reaching for a chunk of fudge ripple. "Do you?"

"I do. I kind of… collect."

"Lingerie?" Okay, that was it. She was officially the perfect woman.

"Mmhmm. I have a whole lingerie chest, totally full. Funny, it's the one indulgence guys don't tend to think is silly," she mused sarcastically. "My shoe closet has been called excessive, but never the lingerie tower. Wonder why that is…"

"Because we men aren't as dumb as you might think?"

"Maybe so." She grabbed another piece, lifted it to his lips, and he decided that eating cheesecake by hand in next-to-nothing was a perfectly sexy way to spend an evening with Calleigh. God… Cheesecake. Near nudity. Calleigh Duquesne. Three things he never quite imagined he'd get to mix. This was turning out to be a really, really good week. He leaned in to kiss her, tasted the sugary sweetness of her mouth, hints of chocolate and caramel and peanut butter all lingering against his tongue. When she eased back a moment later and stretched, he had to busy his hands with another hunk of cheesecake to keep from tugging the t-shirt off her. "So, Eric Delko. Tell me something about you that I don't know."

"Like what?" He fed her this time, dangerous as it was to let her lap and nip at the hint of raspberry swirl clinging to his fingers.

"Mm… First kiss?"

"Megan Sevilla, on the playground. I was five. She was my first girlfriend."

Calleigh snickered, reaching for another piece. "Oh yeah? Was it very serious, at five years old?"

"Oh, very," he grinned. "We dated until first grade, and then she dumped me for Tony Rodriguez. I was very upset. We played marriage one day, and I was adamant that she couldn't kiss Tony unless we got a divorce, and the Pope didn't allow divorce."

She laughed at him then, light and joyful, and Eric was sure she was picturing it in her head. Little Eric Delko all miffed that his playground wife was being unfaithful. "Oh, that's adorable. Mine was Carter Mason at the tender age of six. During Sunday school, on Father's Day. I was told it was very inappropriate to kiss in church and had to sit out while the other kids made macaroni frames for their dads. When Mom and Daddy came to pick me up and I had no frame, Daddy gave the Sunday school teacher a good talking-to. And then we went home and made _three_ macaroni frames of our own. My dad even made my name out of macaroni on one of them."

"Did you cry?"

"Oh, I bawled," she smirked. "I wailed. I was so upset. I'd been talking about the special Daddy's Day project since the week before – but wouldn't tell my dad what it was. I idolized him back then. I mean, things weren't always good, he was already drinking, but… I was always a Daddy's girl. Still am, I guess."

"Yeah. How's he doing?"

"Good. Sober for a while now. We had lunch last week and it was… nice." She was picking at the cookie dough slice again; apparently it was the favorite. "He keeps taking about trying to patch things up with my mom now, and…" She sighed, frowned into the cheesecake box. "It could either be really good, or a disaster. I never know. They've tried before, and it never ends well. Daddy drinks again, and she kicks him out again, and then he's back in Miami, back on my couch until he can get settled, and then I have to go pick him up in the middle of the day or late at night…" She seemed to catch herself suddenly, shaking her head slightly and looking sheepish. "I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about this."

"I don't mind." He caught her hand, lifted her knuckles to his lips. "I love you, remember? That doesn't mean I love all the nice parts and ignore the messier stuff. It means I love all of you."

She… melted. It was the only word for the way her features slid from pensive and tense to soft and sweet, the barest hint of tears rimming her eyes. Her hand turned in his until her palm could cup his cheek, and she ran her thumb over his cheekbone. "Thank you. But let's talk about something else."

"Okay." She pulled away, closed off just a little and it pained him. "Let's stick with firsts. Virginity?"

"I was 18. A freshman. Danny Cannon, in his dorm room at Tulane. He came before me, so I… didn't," Calleigh smirked ruefully, popping cheesecake in her mouth, then offering him a piece of the peanut butter cup again.

"Oh, Danny," Eric groaned, taking the cheesecake, then shaking his head. "Even at that age, he should've known that was a party foul."

"Yeah," she scoffed quietly. "We didn't last long. For a long time I wished I'd waited."

"For Mr. Right?" She'd never struck him as the type, but lately she kept surprising him. "Or just for someone who knew what they were doing?"

"For someone that would have stuck around past winter break." There was no pain in her voice, but he thought that surely it had hurt her at the time. He didn't believe that line -- 'time heals all wounds' -- but he supposed it must heal some, heartbreak included. "But my roommate dragged me out over Spring break with a bunch of her friends, and that's when I met Adam, who was a junior and considerably more skilled in bed. We dated until he finished school and joined the Marines. Figured it would be too hard to stay together with him away, so we split up and stayed friends."

"Still friends?"

"Mmhmm. He's married now, has three adorable little girls. I get a Christmas card every year." Strawberry next, and again, she just barely avoided getting topping on his white shirt. "Who was yours?"

"Alexia Reyes, on the beach. I was 16. I think it was better for me than it was for her," he admitted with a quiet chuckle.

"Did she get hers?"

"After, yeah. I tried, but I'd never felt anything quite like that. Couldn't hold out." He caught her wrist, and tugged her hand over so he could suck her fingers clean. "I made it all the way the next time, though, so she forgave me."

"I bet." Calleigh shifted slightly, squirmed, and then finally sighed and tugged her hand away, tugging up the edge of the t-shirt to scratch her hip. "Itch," she explained, tugging the cotton back down, but he'd spied something he wanted a better look at, so he moved until he was laying perpendicular to her, resting his head on her thigh and nudging her top back up. It pooled at her waist, revealing the tiny pistol inked into her hip.

Eric traced his fingertip over the tattoo, then pressed a kiss to it and rested his chin against her. "This is sexy."

"Yeah?" she smiled, pleased, letting one hand cup the back of his skull, nails grazing back and forth over his scalp. A wave of goosebumps flared down his neck, but he fought the shiver.

"Mmhmm. Probably because I've known you had it for the last seven years, but never knew what it was or where." He shifted so he could kiss it again, then trailed a line of kisses down the outside of her thigh, slow and lazy, and wet. "Mystery is sexy." His fingertips grazed her inner thigh, from her knee up, but she pressed her legs together to deny him access.

"Mm. Girl's gotta have some secrets." Not discouraged in the least, Eric detoured his hand up over her belly, beneath her t-shirt, and she sighed softly before whispering an admonishment. "Stop that."

"Why?" Eric pouted, before kissing his way back up the outside of her thigh.

"Because we're talking. And I'm not done with my cheescake."

Still pouting, he shifted slightly, and left his head on her hip, fingertips still swirling low on her belly, but lightly and without intent. "Fine. Tell me something."

"What?" She appeased him with a piece of the dulce de leche cheesecake, and he wondered how many of the flavors had already been decimated. He hadn't really been paying attention.

"Anything. Something surprising."

"I was almost married once."

Eric's brows shot up. Now, that was surprising. "Seriously?"

"Mmhmm."

"Please tell me it wasn't to Jake Berkely."

Calleigh made a noise of disapproval that he was pretty sure was aimed at him, and shook her head. "No. Jake isn't really the marrying type. It was Luis Pedroza, during my sernior year of college. He was Honduran, about to lose his student visa, and gay as the day was long. We figured it was only three years, we liked each other, why not?"

"A green card wedding?" Eric laughed, both charmed and thrown by the idea.

"Yep. I would have been Calleigh Duquesne-Pedroza. We were going to move to New Orleans, get an apartment and defraud the INS," she smirked, doing that thing with her nails that he liked again. It made him want to purr like a cat in the sun.

"So what happened? You didn't marry him…"

"No, I didn't. His best friend – my roommate, Marni – got dumped by Tommy Seever. And Tommy was the only reason she hadn't agreed to marry Luis in the first place, so I was off the hook. I did live with them in New Orleans for a year, though. And I was their maid of honor."

"So wait—" Eric picked his head up and frowned at her. "You were the back-up wife?"

"I was," she sighed, smirking. "I was the B Team."

"Wow. Ouch." Eric let out a chuckle, amused by the way her belly tightened when he let his touch go whisper-light. He'd discovered last night just how ticklish she actually was, if you used the right touch. But she hadn't laughed when he'd found the right spots, just hissed and gasped, and contorted, and trembled until he'd had to have her again, one more time before sleep.

"Yeah, I probably should have been more upset about that." She didn't mean it, not if the way she was grinning was any indication.

"Well if it makes you feel any better…" He levered up slightly, so he could drape one arm over her thigh as well. "You'd be my first choice for a green card wife."

"No B team?"

"Definitely A team," he assured, and her grin matched his, but was a little more shy, a little more… "demure" was the word that came to mind.

"Who would be your B team?" she asked suddenly, snapping from tender to playful, with that glint in her eye he'd learned to both fear and love. "Valera?"

Eric scoffed and shook his head. "Hardly. Talia."

"You think she'd do it? I mean, you guys have a history together-"

"Which would only make things more believable to INS."

"And also might make things a little awkward when you and I are having loud, obnoxious sex in the next room."

That she was already including herself – and their loud, obnoxious sex – in the equation of his future made him a little happier than it probably should have, but who was he to complain? Life was good right now. Well, no, life was shit right now, but this? The two of them? This was good. This nearly made up for the other stuff. "Yeah. Might be."

They fell silent for a minute, Eric pressing more kisses against her hip, and Calleigh studying the cheesecake selection again. A moment later, she gave up with a huff and a grunt. "Ugh. I can't eat any more cheesecake. I'll die."

Grinning, Eric let his hand skim down her belly, trying to sneak between her thighs again. "Really?"

She laughed and clenched her thighs tight together, shoving lightly at his head. "Eric! What is your problem tonight?"

"I can't help myself." A single fingertip trailed down her thigh. "Can't keep my hands off you." And back up. "Let me make love to you again, Calleigh." He kept his gaze on her, tried to look sweet and imploring. He'd begun to notice that it made her waver, made her give in a little sooner.

She sighed again, smiled, shook her head, and shifted onto her back. "Oh, alright. But we have to clean up the cheesecake first."

"Check. Cheesecake clean-up. I'm on it." He pushed up and made quick work of moving the nearly-empty box to the nightstand, balling up the towel and tossing it to the floor. He turned back just in time to get a mass of white cotton in the face, and he grinned as he tossed the t-shirt aside. And there she was in all her glory, Calleigh, naked as a jaybird and grinning at him. "You look delicious," he told her settling on top of her and brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Better than the cheesecake."

She wiggled her brows at him and looped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss and nipping at his bottom lip when it broke. "Let's go slow, okay?"

"Too much cheesecake?" he teased, letting his mouth trail down her chin, over her throat.

"Yeah…" Her voice dropped low and intimate, palms coasting along his shoulders as she whispered. "And I like being close to you, like being with you."

"Mm." He was nibbling along her collar now, and he made a conscious effort to slow down, to savor. If slow was what she wanted… "Then we'll go slow."

Calleigh's soft, pleased sigh was all the incentive he needed to keep the pace easy, and it was an hour again before they were done – might have been two, he couldn't keep track. They lay together for a while afterward, sated and sheened with sweat, trading quiet kisses and whispered words until they succumbed to a sleep so deep and dreamless that neither moved until morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Calleigh was in heaven. In perfect, blissed-out heaven. And to think it had all happened because of a somewhat awkward conversation in the break room over lunch that afternoon. She'd been in there alone, heating up a Lean Cuisine from her emergency lunch stash, with every intention of scarfing it down and then heading back to her lab to work on her backlog of evidence. And then Eric had strolled in, realized they were alone, and tried to cage her against the countertop for a few stolen kisses.

"Eric, no," she'd insisted, evading his grasp. "Not at work."

"We're alone. No one can see."

"Someone might walk in," she'd pointed out, grateful when the microwave dinged and gave her something to busy herself with. "And besides, all we ever do is… Ow! Damnit! Ow!"

She'd been carrying her lunch to the table, the plastic tray so hot she'd had to bobble it to keep her fingers from burning. "It's not all we do," Eric had defended, swiping a Lean Cuisine for himself without asking – but when did he ever? "I mean, we've only been dating for what? Two, three days? I don't think we've had enough time for 'all we do' yet."

"This isn't dating. People who are dating go on actual dates." She'd taken the fork he handed her and stirred her lunch, trying to avoid being scalded by steam. "And we've had _a lot_ of sex in those two-three days. There's more to a relationship than what goes on in the bedroom."

Eric had plunked down next to her and reached out for her free hand, threading their fingers. "Let me take you to dinner tonight. Somewhere decent – an actual date. And afterward, we'll just go back, rent another movie, just… be together. No sex."

She had smiled, but ducked her head slightly, not meeting his eyes when she told him, "Dinner sounds nice, but I was actually thinking I might take a bath tonight. Our tub has whirlpool jets."

"Yeah, I saw those. I don't suppose you want company?"

She'd let out a chuckle, shaken her head. "How quickly he changes his mind about 'no sex.'"

"I can behave myself!" he'd insisted, laughing at her and giving her fingers a squeeze before letting go. "Promise."

"Mm." She'd lifted her first bite, blown on it to cool it a little before turning a teasing grin in his direction. "Your track record in this area says otherwise, Mr. Delko."

"Well, _Ms. Duquesne_, why don't you let me work on that. In the bathtub." He'd given her those puppy-dog eyes she was such a sucker for, and she'd relented with a sigh.

"Fine. Dinner, and a bath, then maybe a movie before bed."

"Deal." He'd actually offered his hand and had her shake on it.

True to his word, they'd had Italian at La Loggia after work, and he'd somehow managed to talk her into sharing tiramisu for dessert and getting an order of cannoli to go. "For the movie," he'd told her, and she'd relented because they'd looked delicious.

Now they were tucked into the bath, jets sending the water around them into a bubbling frenzy. Her back was against his chest, legs tangled with his under the water, and the steam that had fogged the mirror and hung in the air was just beginning to make her sweat. She didn't mind. In fact, she was pretty sure there wasn't much she could possibly mind right now, not with the way his strong hands were kneading into her shoulders, thumbs stroking up along the nape of her neck, then back down and out along her shoulders, in and up, out and down, over and over.

"God, this feels…" He found a particularly tight spot and she moaned softly and squirmed. She wasn't surprised when she felt a soft rush of his breath along her neck. They'd agreed on no sex, and here she was all moaning and writhing. Not her fault, though. He always did give the best massages. "Mm. Can you do this for me every day?"

"You this tense every day?" he murmured over the whirr of the bubbles. He was using what she'd come to consider his bedroom voice, low and soft. She liked it, liked that she was the one who got to hear it, finally.

"Yeah, lately," she sighed, tipping her head forward slightly as he worked up her neck again. "Unfortunately."

"You need to learn to _relax_," he drew the word out as his thumbs dragged hard in parallel lines down her neck.

"Well, I don't exactly have a stress-free job, Eric. Can you… right here?" Calleigh gestured to the curve right where her neck met her left shoulder, groaning softly when he pressed in deep circles. "Yeah… Ow…"

He let up just a hair. "Good ow or bad ow?"

"Good." The pressure eased back in and Calleigh took a deep, slow breath as a low throb of pain radiated out from under his thumb.

"Yeah, you've got a big knot right here. Want me to stay for a while?"

"Mmhmm."

"If it hurts too much, let me know." When she nodded, he paused for just a second, and she felt him press a soft, wet kiss to the opposite side of her neck. His thumb began its slow, firm circles again as his lips coasted up to the side of her neck. She turned her head slightly to give him more room, but it just made a streak of pain lance through the knot he was trying to work out.

Calleigh grimaced and nudged his head away gently. "Hurts to move my head like that."

He apologized quietly, and for a few long minutes, the only sounds in the bathroom were the jets and Calleigh's slow, deep breaths. Finally, he eased off her shoulder, leaving it looser but just a little sore. He ran his palm over it in a slow, soothing stroke, then cupped both her shoulders and slowly eased her forward. When his thumbs began to dig in slow circles along her spine, she brought her knees up to she could rest her elbows on them and let her body go as loose and lax as possible. This was heaven. Cloud-nine, Philadelphia-cream-cheese-commercial heaven. In fact, it was so much heaven that she barely heard him when he spoke up a moment later – she had to ask him to repeat himself.

"I said, 'why lately?'"

She'd have furrowed her brow if he hadn't just found another sweet spot. "Why lately what?" she gasped, biting her bottom lip gently. Ugh, heaven. She was trying to think of another word, but… no. Just heaven.

"You said you've been tense all the time lately." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss at the top of her spine, the wash of his breath against her damp skin making her shiver. "Why?"

Well, there went heaven. "Just… have been."

"Calleigh." His hands were under the water now, rubbing against the base of her spine. "Talk to me."

"I… I've just…" She sighed heavily, rolled her shoulders just a little when she felt herself tensing reflexively. "I'm sorry, I'm not great at… talking. I'm more of an internal-processing kind of gal. You know that."

"I do," he agreed as he pressed another kiss on her shoulder. "I also know you're tense, and I'd bet that you've been having trouble sleeping. You held on awfully tight a few nights ago."

Looked like she had to eat her words about trusting his decency to let that slide. "Eric…"

"You can trust me, Calleigh."

"I know."

"So… trust me." His palms coasted up her back again, waist to shoulder, sluicing warm water over her. "Talk to me."

With a heavy sigh, she nodded, ignored the curl of anxiety in her gut. She'd been trying to muscle through on her own, for the most part, and talking to Eric meant opening the door to talking again. To leaning on him. To needing him. That was a dangerous road to go down. But she felt another kiss on her shoulder, another soft press of lip, and she knew if there was anyone in her world who deserved to be the one she leaned on it was Eric. So, okay. She'd trust. She'd talk. She'd… "I guess it started with… Well, Jake left. Back in March. Didn't say anything, just… stopped answering his phone. And I knew. I mean, I figured. He'd gone back under. And that, the not knowing… that was stressful, and being – essentially – dumped without warning was stressful. And right after that was when I got kidnapped and I just… I haven't…" Shit. No. Shit. Damnit! She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. "I've been having trouble sleeping." Her voice was beginning to waver. Crap. _Crap_. This was exactly why she didn't want to have this conversation, exactly why she'd changed the subject on Alexx that day they'd had lunch to catch up.

"That was, what? Eight months ago. You haven't been able to sleep for eight months?"

He was all concern and comfort, and it just made her ache harder. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she shook her head. "No. Just... off and on. There was… I guess, for the first month or so, yeah, I had trouble. Dreams. But then it got better. And then everything happened with Horatio and the faked shooting, and Jake breezed back in and left again. For good. I told him I wouldn't wait for him. To be honest, I'd had feelings for you for a while, and I wanted to give us time to grow without… Waiting was too hard, and too limiting, so I told him I wouldn't."

She'd gotten her voice back under control, and then he had to go and murmur, "That must have been hard." His support and sympathy, despite the resentment she knew he'd always had for Jake, made the tears well again, no matter how hard she tried to blink them back.

"Yeah." Her voice was weak, cracking slightly mid-word. "It was just… lonely. God, Eric, I was so lonely. And then I read your file, and I thought maybe that would go somewhere, maybe _we_ would go somewhere now that Jake was out of the picture. But I wasn't sure if you would feel the same now that I was… attainable."

He scoffed slightly, and wrapped his arms around her, easing her back to his chest again. "Calleigh, even with Jake gone, you were never attainable. Never seemed that way, anyway. I always felt like you were way out of my league."

"I'm not," she insisted quietly, settling her arms over his and tilting her head so the slight stubble of his chin rested against her smooth brow. "I'm right in your league. I promise, I –" She cut off, swallowed hard against another rush of inexplicable tears. "I hate feeling like this," she whispered, just harsh enough for him to hear her over the bubbles.

"Like what?'

"Overwhelmed. Out of control." She wiped furiously at the tears that had begun to spill down her cheeks, but with her wet hands, she really only succeeded in making things worse. "Ever since William Campbell died, I… I can't sleep. I can't get to sleep, or I have dreams. I wake up shivering, cold sweat, and I feel so alone. And I just want someone to be there, and there never is." Words were tumbling from her now, quick and building, an avalanche of pent-up emotion. "I should have had him, Eric. My hand was sweaty, and I wasn't strong enough, and he was looking me in the eyes and holding my hand and then he was dead, and I… there was nothing I could… I just…"

His arms tightened around her, held her close as she hitched a short sob and bit down hard on her lip to try to pull herself together. He shushed her softly, rocked her gently. "It wasn't your fault, Cal. You know that."

"I know, but it still _feels_ like it was."

"Don't get mad at me for asking this, but did you ever get your post-incident counseling? We were both supposed to have a meeting with a department shrink, remember?"

Calleigh shook her head quickly, shifting onto her side and tucking her head beneath his chin. The water bubbled over her shoulder, along her neck, but she didn't mind. In fact, right now she wished it would bubble even higher, wanted to sink under. Wanted to escape the gnawing twinge of misery that was eating at her, wanted to hear the riot of bubbles around her instead of the racing of her own heart. "I wasn't ready to talk about it yet, and then we got so busy, and... You know how it is. It was an optional evaluation. I didn't want it."

"I think you need it." One of his arms was still clutched around her, but the other lifted so his fingers could trace the hair off her face, tuck it behind her ear. "You need to talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you."

"Someone who can really help," he corrected, dotting kisses along the top of her head.

"You help. Just by being here, you help." Her fingertip traced a pattern along his shoulder, his chest. "I haven't slept this well in ages."

"I'm not going to be around every night, Cal. You need to talk to someone." She started to cut him off, but he forged ahead. "I didn't want to either when I first had to go, but it's been good for me. Just talking to someone who is neutral, who doesn't have a history with you, who doesn't have any expectations. I know it makes you uncomfortable, opening up – especially to a stranger – but… Do it for me, okay? Just go to one session. If nothing else, tell them you can't sleep, and see if they'll prescribe you something. You'll at least be able to get some rest."

"You're just saying that, because you think it will get me to go, and then I'll start talking and have some grand epiphany," she accused gently, and he didn't bother to deny it. Just kissed her again, tightened his hold on her.

"I'm saying it because I love you, and when you hurt, I hurt." Warm fingers rubbed down over the back of her neck and up again, threading into her hair. "Just think about it. And stop holding back; you're practically vibrating. Let the tears come, Calleigh. You'll feel better."

She tried to open her mouth to tell him that fine, she'd go to one meeting – _one_ meeting – with the department shrink, but no she would not become a blubbering mess right now. Apparently her over-tired, over-worked, over-stressed body had other ideas, though, because all that came out was a harsh sob. And then another, and another, and before she knew it, she was clinging and crying, and being held and rocked and petted and soothed until the tremors had subsided and she was left quiet and spent. Purged.

Eric urged her from the tub and dried her off, wrapping her in a fluffy hotel towel before pouring her into bed. She was asleep almost before she hit the pillow.


	11. Chapter 11

The warm wash of breath and soft press of lips over his neck was what pulled Eric from the deep sleep he'd been in. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it had to be late. He'd stayed up until midnight, just watching Calleigh sleep. It wasn't something he'd ever felt the need to do with any of his previous lovers, but he'd been worried about her after her crying jag, after her rare moment of unguarded revelation. So he'd watched over her, at first to make sure she was actually settling in to sleep, and then because he couldn't look away. She'd mesmerized him. The soft cadence of her breath, the way her brow furrowed just a little every now and then, a fitful sigh or two. He studied her face, learned the curve of her lip, the slope of her nose, the arch of her eyebrow. Etched everything into his memory, so that he could close his eyes and see her in high definition, every detail perfect, clear. Around eleven, he'd peeled himself down to his underwear and tucked into bed, shutting off the lights, but leaving the TV on mute, so he could still watch her, the blue glow flickering on her skin until he finally nodded off.

But he was half-awake now, and apparently he wasn't the only one. Her body was pressed against his side, her tongue swirling around his Adam's apple. When a sneaky hand crept beneath the elastic of his boxer-briefs and wrapped around his cock, he finally managed to blink his eyes open, breath catching slightly in his chest. He wasn't hard yet, but he was definitely getting there now, the soft warmth of her hand coasting up and down over him. The room was dark; she must have turned off the TV.

It took him a minute to find his voice, and when he finally did it was thick and rough with sleep. "What happened to 'no sex?'" he tried to tease, and she hesitated for just a second before resuming her rhythm.

"I need you." It was quiet, but sincere, raw, and it broke his heart that hers was still feeling bruised, even after a few hours' sleep. So he did the only thing he could think of to help: he reached for her, tugged her body onto his and tangled his fingers in her hair, then found her mouth in the dark and pressed his to it.

They traded soft, slow kisses, tongues teasing lazily against each other, over and over. Her hand stilled eventually, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was finally hard or because she'd shifted her attention to nibbling on his bottom lip in a way that made him squirm pleasantly. Two could play at that game, though, so after a moment he eased her onto her back and caught her lower lip in a tender nip. He sucked and licked gently, bit ever-so-softly, and soon she was panting shallowly beneath him, fingers clutching his ribs, toes curling against his calves. When she gasped his name, he smiled and meshed his mouth with hers again before trailing it along her jaw, down her throat.

He took his time, trying to soothe her with warm, unhurried kisses along her collar, in the hollow of her shoulder, down across her breasts. When his tongue found her nipple, she moaned quietly, cupping the back of his head lightly as he sucked lazy kisses there until she was the one squirming. She offered up little gasps and sighs when he caught the other peak gently in his teeth, and as he teased her again with lips and tongue, he felt short nails scraping lightly along his shoulder blades.

He wanted her to be ready, needed her to be, so he sent one hand down between her thighs for a slow caress. She was warm and slick, but not quite as wet as he wanted, so he let his fingertips swirl over her clit once, twice, and a third time to coax a low moan from her. When he started to kiss his way down her belly, though, she caught his chin and urged him up again, pulling him into another languorous kiss.

When it broke, she whispered softly to him, "I need you in me."

If she hadn't sounded so vulnerable, that particular phrase would have made him even harder, but as it was, he could only nod and try to ease the ache she couldn't quite seem to get rid of. He shifted his to grip his shaft, letting the head rub gently against her clit until she panted a quiet "please," and arched her hips against him.

"You sure you're wet enough?" he asked quietly, answering his own question when he drew his tip down to nestle against her entrance. She'd been wetter over the last few days, certainly, but she was ready enough now. If he'd needed any reassurance, her slight nod and "mmhmm" did the trick, and a moment later, he was sinking slowly into her slick warmth, the feel of her around him as intoxicating as ever. She was snug and wet, hot and eager, arching her hips against his to urge him deeper. Eric settled against her, pressing slowly until he was all the way in, rubbing against her clit in a way that made her clench slightly around him.

When he felt it, he smiled, stole a kiss from her and ground against her to earn himself a gasp of pleasure. For a minute, he stayed like that, buried deep, rocking his hips ever-so-slightly against hers as she let out soft kittenish moans. And then he couldn't wait any longer, so he eased out slowly, until just the head was left inside her, then pushed back in. Slow, controlled, deliberate. Out, and in, out, and in, and it was exquisite, a slow burn of pleasure that sizzled up the spine and spread out into the veins until they were both trembling slightly, both moaning and sighing into each others' mouths.

Eventually, he felt her stiffen beneath him, her body drawing tight just before she spilled into a quiet release. She moaned into his mouth, short, tense sounds of pleasure in time with the clutch of her muscles around his shaft, and she bit softly into his lower lip as she crested. He fought to keep the pace steady, to keep up the same measured strokes until she fluttered over a second peak, burying her face against his neck and crying out softly as her nails bit into his shoulders. Then, finally, he let himself speed up just little, until he felt the ripples of an orgasm slither through him as he emptied himself into her.

When he came back down, she was pressing soft kisses into his shoulder, her arms banded around his waist. He turned his head to brush a kiss against her temple and asked softly, "Feel better?"

She nodded, then found his lips and kissed him with a quiet urgency that undermined her reassurance. When she broke away from him, she whispered a quiet plea, "Don't ever go."

"I won't," he promised, threading his fingers through her hair and pressing a comforting kiss to her lips.

"I need you." She kept her voice low, private, just for him.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," he insisted again, catching her mouth for another slow, hopefully soothing press of lip.

"No, I mean…. After we leave the hotel. Come home with me, stay with me. Until you're safe to go back home."

His pulse pounded at the offer, excitement and nerves dampened by the knowledge that this was afterglow and uneven emotions, not rational Calleigh. She'd change her mind in the daylight. He wanted to say yes, of course, but instead he told her, "Ask me again tomorrow. If you still mean it in the morning, ask me then."

Whether she recognized her own need-fueled request for what it was, or was just too tired for debate, he didn't know, but she nodded and tucked her face against his neck with a quiet sigh. Eric took that as his cue, and eased out of her, settling next to her and pulling her close. She curled against him, head over his heart, and his sleepy, sated body was asleep again within minutes.


	12. Chapter 12

Calleigh woke feeling off-kilter. Uneven, and still raw, and embarrassed. Apparently once she'd cracked the lid on her bottled emotions, she couldn't get the seal back on tight, and that was just unacceptable. It had been unacceptable to wake in the middle of the night with a tight fist of anxiety around her heart, even more unacceptable to let it make her wake Eric up to…what? Make her feel better? Ease her pain? Service her needs? And then, God, the capper on it all, pleading with him to always be there, asking him to move in with her. It was mortifying. It was weak, and silly, and far too open for a relationship that had only been romantic for, what? Three days now. And she'd sobbed on him like a basket case, then roused him for comfort sex.

Now he was spooned behind her, tracing his fingers along her arm in slow, tender strokes, and they probably should have been comforting, but they weren't. She couldn't decide quite what they were, couldn't get her bearings anymore when he was around. And he was always around. When she woke, when she showered, at work, at night. She hadn't felt stifled until just this moment, but now she felt like she was suffocating. Like someone had sealed the room off without telling her, and she was on her last few minutes of oxygen. Light-headed, over-warm, claustrophobic. She needed to get up, needed to get out of bed, needed a few minutes alone to snap out of this and pull herself together.

If he hadn't already figured out she was awake, the dead giveaway came when she sat up, rubbing her hands over her face and yawning. He reached out, stroked his fingers down her bare back, and murmured a sleepy "g'morning," but Calleigh's only response was a quiet "yeah," before she peeled the covers back and slipped out of bed, thankful for the thick curtains that kept the room in near-darkness.

She heard him say her name again, questioning, right before she shut the bathroom door behind her and flipped on the light, blinking against the harsh brightness.

She beelined for the shower and cranked the water to scalding, stepping in and easing herself gingerly under the spray. Maybe the heat would melt away the relentless anxiety. She shouldn't feel this way. Logically, she knew that. She knew that letting someone in shouldn't make her feel so ridiculously exposed, that needing someone shouldn't make her feel like running. But she couldn't remember a time when she'd needed so fiercely, when she'd let someone in so completely. It wasn't just the tear-fest. The sex had been achingly, horribly, beautifully intimate. Too intimate. She wasn't ready for that, not yet, not even with Eric.

Maybe this had all been too soon. Maybe five nights had been too long. Two nights, maybe three, would have been better. Or maybe she should have just booked him into the Comfort Inn and stayed at her own place. They still could have talked about his parents, still could have talked about taking the next step together, but they wouldn't have been in such a bubble. Wouldn't have been cocooned in their luxury hotel room with the big bed and the whirlpool jets and the opportunities to fall into each other over and over again like the real world didn't exist, like nothing mattered but how good they could make each other feel. Maybe she should sleep at home tonight.

Maybe she should stop thinking about maybes.

She reached for the shampoo just as the bathroom door cracked open, and she cursed herself for not locking it. She'd come in here to get away, to be alone. She heard the water running in the sink, heard the clatter as he fumbled his toothbrush, and ducked her head around the curtain. "Eric… do you have to do that right now?"

He paused, toothpaste poised over the bristles, and looked at her. Something was up, and he knew it, and she hated that. Hated that he could read her so well right now. Figuring if he couldn't see her then he couldn't see _through_ her, she disappeared behind the curtain again. "No," he sighed, and she heard the toothpaste tube drop to the counter with a thunk. "No, I guess I don't."

The bathroom door clicked shut a moment later and she was alone again. She spent the rest of her shower stewing, and as a result she was no less irritable when she emerged, minty-fresh and towel-clad, from the bathroom.

Eric was reclining on the bed, watching her as she moved silently to the closet. Did he have to study her every move like that?

"Can I brush my teeth now?" he asked, a hint of irritation edging his voice.

That he was irritated when she'd done nothing more than wake up without sunshine, smiles, and kisses grated on her, and her response came out bitchier than she'd meant: "Do whatever you want."

She heard his slow exhale from across the room as she slipped into underwear, and ignored it. If they were both keyed up, this would not end well. Better to just leave it alone. Maybe she could slip out while he showered, and apologize later when she'd gotten coffee and breakfast and breathing space.

But no, apparently Eric wanted to talk. "Is this about last night?"

Hooking her bra into place, she shook her head and yanked slacks off a hanger. "I don't want to talk about last night, Eric."

"I knew you'd change your mind in the morning, Cal," he assured, clearly trying to diffuse the situation, but not particularly succeeding. He thought this was just about that? "It's really not a big deal; I'll check into another hotel after tonight."

"This isn't about that."

"Well, at least you're acknowledging that this is about something," he muttered softly, and that just pissed her off.

"I never denied that—You know what? I don't want to have this conversation." Pants on, zipped, buttoned.

"No, of course you don't," he grumbled, and she heard him push off the bed, finally, as she reached for her last clean shirt. "I'm going to shower. You go ahead and… do this."

Calleigh paused, hand still on the hanger, and listened to the bathroom door shut before shaking her head and yanking the shirt free. What the hell was that supposed to mean, anyway? 'Do this.' Do what? Be in a bad mood? She was allowed to wake up in a bad mood and not want to share it with him; not everything was his damned business. Dating him didn't make it his right to know every thought in her head, and if she wanted to deal with something on her own, she had every right to.

She shrugged into her shirt and reached for her deodorant, his words still ringing in her head. _You go ahead and do this_. Like she was some irrational female, flying off the handle. She was Calleigh Duquense. She was strong, she was smart, and most of all, she was private. She needed that. She needed some degree of space or she couldn't keep her life together the way she liked it.

She hadn't realized how irritated she really was until she had already made her way across the room and shoved open the bathroom door. "I'm sorry, I just-" She took a deep breath, shook her head. "Do what exactly?"

He turned his back on her to spit out his toothpaste, then reached for a towel and slung it around his waist as he turned to lean against the counter. "What are you talking about?"

"You said I could 'go ahead and do this," she reminded. "Do what?"

"Wall up. Shut me out because you 'don't want to have this conversation.' You wanna be pissed at me, fine. Be pissed at me, but don't expect me to just stand there and smile pleasantly while you do."

"I'm not mad at you!" That probably wasn't very convincing when she was standing there, hands on her hips, glaring at him with her shirt still unbuttoned. But it was true. She wasn't really mad at _him_.

"So who are you mad at then? Yourself?"

"I wasn't aware that I was mad at anybody, Eric."

"Really? Because you sound pretty mad."

"Okay, you know what? I'm done with this conversation. If I wanted to pick a fight, I'd call Jake," she muttered, heading back into the bedroom as she buttoned her shirt. She didn't realize quite how close she'd hit the mark until she looked up and found him waiting by the bathroom door, looking sucker-punched and angry and hurt. "What?"

"You know what."

She rolled her eyes, hard, stalking to the nightstand for her watch. "Oh save it, Eric. Don't pull the jealousy crap with me. In the entire year we were together, I never, _never_ let Jake get even half as intimate with me as you were last night, so just don't."

"Oh, that's what this is about. The intimacy," he surmised, a little too pleased with himself for her tastes. "You let someone in, got too close, and now you're pissed about it."

Bull's-eye. She dropped her eyes to her watch, latched it fiercely, and told him simply, "No."

"Okay, now _you_ save it. Don't lie to me; I can see right through it." She pressed her lips tight and flared an irritated breath through her nostrils. "See? That, right there. That means I'm right."

"Fine! You're right! Be right, Eric, if it makes you happy."

"You think it makes me _happy_ that letting me in makes you cranky?" he questioned, and something in her snapped.

"Cranky??" she shot back, ready to rumble now.

"No, shut up, I'm not done." That he'd actually told her to shut up surprised her enough that she complied—for the moment, anyway. "Letting someone in is what you do in a relationship, Calleigh. It's what happens when you get involved, and you know that. That's the risk you take, and two days ago, you were willing to take it. Hell, last night you were."

"Last night was different. I was hurting last night."

"Yeah," he scoffed with a little shake of his head. "Join the club."

That threw her, set her off-kilter enough that she nearly wobbled as she slipped her feet into black pumps. "What?"

"I said 'join the club,' Calleigh. You don't rule the market on pain. You've had a long few months. I get that. I know it's been hard, and I don't mean to belittle what you're going through, but I just found out everything I've ever known about myself and my family was a lie. So excuse me if this Great Wall of Calleigh you've decided to suddenly put up pisses me off. You're not the only one who needed last night. You're not the only one who isn't used to being that close."

"I didn't… I…" Calleigh felt a pang of guilt, which mixed with the other roiling emotions in her gut and just made her feel even worse. She simply hadn't thought of that. They'd gotten so caught up in the sex and the new love that she'd almost forgotten that his world was falling apart around him. Just one more reason this hotel haven had been a bad idea for them.

They stood there, staring at each other. Eric with his hands on his hips now, Calleigh with hers crossed tightly across her chest. She wanted to tell him something, something comforting, something that would make this better, but she couldn't find the words. All she could find to say was, "I don't think I should stay here tonight."

He scoffed, looked incredibly hurt, and Calleigh couldn't make her brain work enough to backpedal. He'd been there when she needed him, and now she couldn't work up the words to be there for him, and it felt wretched. But he mustered up all his hurt, balled it together and shot it back at her with one retort: "I thought you couldn't sleep without me. Isn't that what you said?"

Calleigh went cold. He hadn't. There was no way that he had just thrown her sleepless nights back in her face, no way that he'd used the intimacy she'd given him as a weapon.

"Oh, that is _it_," she bit quietly, stalking toward the door and feeling like he'd just taken the heart she'd so freely given him and let it fall to the floor to shatter.

"Wait, Calleigh-" He caught up to her as she twisted open one of the double doors, grabbing her around the bicep. His other hand slapped the door shut again.

"Get your hand off me," she ordered. His grip was solid, but not bruising. He was impeding her, not forcing her, but she needed out. Right now. Before the lump of grief in the back of her throat made it any further. That _Eric_ of all people would be the one who used her emotions against her…

"I'm sorry," he insisted, but he didn't let go.

"_Get your hand off me_," she repeated, trying to wrench away from him his time. She expected him to either let go or tighten his grip, but he did neither. Just followed her movement and cupped this other hand to her shoulder.

"Hey, no – listen to me. I'm sorry." He squeezed her gently, but she was pretty sure it was to reassure her more than anything else. "That was out of line."

"You're damn right it was," she hissed, rolling her shoulders to buck his hand and reaching for the door again. "I need to go to work."

"You've got plenty of time, Cal." She did. He was right, but that wasn't the point.

"I need space, Eric," she told him, finally, deflating slightly and wondering if telling him that an twenty minutes ago could have spared them this. "Right now, this morning, today… I need space. I need you to give me some space."

He hesitated for a moment, then finally released her arms with a quiet, "Fine."

"Thank you," she muttered, wrenching the door open and feeling wretched and moody and on the verge of tears as she headed to the coffee table to scoop up her purse.

She was barely halfway there before he followed, calling out to her again, "Wait!"

She turned, shook her head, and offered him a pleading look. "Eric, don't."

He looked for a second like he was wrestling with something, and then he just exhaled, defeated, and told her, "I love you."

Calleigh pressed a hand over the heart that felt bruised and raw, and pressed her lips together hard for a moment. "I know," she told him finally, knowing it wasn't what he wanted to hear. "I have to go."

She didn't wait long enough for him to protest again, just grabbed her purse and hightailed it out of the room. It wasn't until she was in the elevator that she realized her hair was still wet, and she hadn't bothered with makeup. She couldn't go back in that room, though, not right now. She'd have to drive all the way back to Bal Harbour to finish getting ready, which meant she'd be late for work.

Blinking back tears, she leaned against the wall of the elevator and tipped her head back, as if gravity could keep her tear ducts from spilling over. One fight. One little fight, and she felt this way. Felt nauseous and flushed, and like she couldn't suck in oxygen.

Suddenly she saw the logic in everything – all her reasons to stay just friends, her carefully constructed walls, even the IAB no-fraternization rule. How was she supposed to work with him today? What if they got a call out together? For a crazy half-second she considered calling out of work entirely, but that was ridiculous. She never missed work, and she wouldn't miss it over this. She needed a breather, though. Needed time to get her head together. Which meant she needed to make a phone call.

She fumbled her phone out of her purse, dialed the familiar number. It picked up after one ring. "Horatio, it's Calleigh. I'm going to be a little late today…"


	13. Chapter 13

Eric couldn't concentrate. He was supposed to be comparing prints from this morning's crime scene, but he couldn't make sense of the arches and whorls. He was too caught up in his brain, too caught up in Calleigh and the argument they'd had. He'd been waffling all morning between being pissed and feeling guilty, so by three in the afternoon, his brain had pretty much been fried to useless mush. Guilty had held over the morning until he'd gotten to work and realized that she wasn't there. Then he'd been irritated. When he got back from his call-out and discovered that she had gone straight to the day's second call-out without stepping foot into the lab, he upgraded to pissed. She'd made such a big deal about needing to get out, about being on time for work, and he'd known it was a front for something deeper, something more frantic, but that didn't mean it couldn't irk him that she was a whopping two hours late for work after. Was it too much trouble to even _pretend_ her excuses held water?

And then they'd avoided each other all day, which frankly came as no surprise, but it had made him irritable and edgy. He'd snapped at Natalia more than once while they processed their scene, and now she was steering clear of him too. Which was fine. Better, probably. Apparently he was just toxic today.

With a thunk and a heavy sigh, Eric set down his magnifying glass and tipped his head back, pinching the headache between his eyes. Now he was pissed again. Pissed and scowling and generally grumpy. And to think, this time yesterday, he'd been anticipating a romantic dinner and some hot tub hanky panky. Oh how a day – or more specifically, an awful morning – could change things.

As if things couldn't get any worse, he caught sight of Calleigh rounding the corner. Rather than get caught staring, he hunched over his prints again, studying them but not still seeing a damned thing. The last thing he expected to hear was the click-clack of her heels on the floor as she entered the room, her perfume wafting to him a moment later as she came to a stop about a foot away. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she leaned against the evidence table, trying for casual and failing. Well, at least it was a small comfort to know that she was as thrown today as he was. He didn't look up, and for a long minute she didn't say anything, just stood there fidgeting. When she finally found her voice, it was soft, tentative.

"Eric." He set his magnifying glass down again, lifted his gaze to find her looking nervous and uncomfortable. "Hey," she tried for a smile, but it wasn't very convincing.

"Hey," he replied, and flicking his gaze back to the prints for a moment as he told her, "Your bag is in my car."

He watched her falter slightly, and frown. "What?"

"You said you didn't want to sleep at the hotel tonight, so I packed your stuff. It's in my car." He was self-aware enough to know he was being cold, and Calleigh-aware enough to know she was trying to let it roll off her back. And failing.

"Oh. Okay." She fiddled with the end of her sleeve, glanced down at her hands, and it was so un-Calleigh that he felt a stab of guilt. She really was upset… Sucking in a deep breath, she continued, "Can we… talk?"

"Here?" he questioned.

"Just… y'know, for a minute."

He echoed her breath and nodded, finally giving her his full attention. "Sure. Where do you want to start?"

"With an apology."

He scoffed, shook his head, and while he'd spent half the morning rehearsing his apology, the idea that she'd demand one from him irked him enough to reconsider.

"No, Eric," she shook her head, settled a hand on his arm, drawing it back almost immediately when she knew she had his attention. "From me. _I'm_ sorry. I was upset this morning, and I shouldn't have taken that out on you."

"I don't know what you were upset about in the first place," he sighed, before backtracking, "No, actually, I do know what. I just don't know why."

"I probably shouldn't have been. I just… I'm still adjusting. This, us… it all happened really fast."

"Yeah, it only took the better part of a decade," he remarked dryly. "Like light speed – reaching deep space."

She sighed, brushed her hair back and pressed her lips together for a second. "Eric, can you… not? I'm trying to make things right."

There was that pang of guilt again. He listened to it this time – really listened – and nodded his head. "Sorry. I'm not in the best mood today."

"Yeah. Me neither." Her fingers crept over, settling against the edge of his arm, as if she was afraid he'd reject anything further. Not that he could blame her. "Neither of us was very kind to each other this morning, and I just wanted to apologize."

"I'm sorry, too. I think we both said some things we didn't mean," he conceded, reaching for her fingers and lacing them with his. She relaxed a little at the contact, squeezing her fingers gently over his.

"Yeah." Her gaze dropped to their fingers for a second, but he could tell she wasn't done. She was working, formulating, trying to find words. And because his world seemed to be slowly settling back onto its axis, he gave her the time she needed. "I didn't mean everything I said," she told him finally, and he wondered why it took her so long to essentially repeat what he'd just said. "And I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you like you were for me."

"Calleigh…" Eric itched to pull her close, but couldn't. Too public, and he wasn't sure she'd let him anyway. "The only time I don't think about that, about my parents and my birth certificate… I think about it all the time, except when I'm with you. Or when I'm thinking about you. You're my solace. Just by being in the room, you're there for me."

Eric watched as tears welled in her eyes, just before she closed them and pressed her lips together until they turned white. He hadn't realized it would mean that much to her, but he supposed he should have. He'd felt the same rush of gratitude as they'd fallen asleep last night. Finally, her eyes blinked back open, no more tears. She smiled at him, just a little, and this time he bought it. "Is it alright if I come over tonight?"

Every basic part of Eric screamed a resounding YES, but his brain piped up and reminded him of this morning, of her insisting that she needed space, that she shouldn't stay. There was no way one little conversation was enough for Calleigh Duquesne to shelve that, no matter how much she may want to mend things. "It's your hotel room," he told her, "but... I thought you said you needed space."

She nodded a little, jerked her shoulder in something vaguely reminiscent of a shrug. "I do," she agreed. "But I can have space with you there. I'll take a bath." She caught herself, glanced to the side quickly before adding, "By myself."

It sounded like a fair compromise, and he thought he might go up to the gym for a while, give her even more time, more space. So he smiled and told her, "Okay."

"Okay," Calleigh confirmed, and though there was still tension in the room, he felt lighter. He felt like he could breathe normally again. They stood there for a minute, not talking, and Eric watched as Calleigh's lips slowly curved into a sly smile. "I really want to kiss you right now."

"Glass walls," he reminded, answering her smile with a smirk of his own.

"Yeah…" She eased her fingers from his slowly. "Later, though?"

"Definitely."

Fiddling with the edge of the table, she… hovered. There was no other word for the sudden nervous energy pumping from her again. She tucked her hair behind her ear, frowned slightly, and asked him, "We're okay, right?"

Heart aching with the realization that she'd dropped none of the vulnerability she'd shown him last night, he reached for her hand and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze. "We will be."

With a nod, she took a slow breath and glanced at her watch. "I should get back to work."

"Yeah, me too. I'll see you tonight."

"Mmhmm." She hesitated for just a second, then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and pulling away to give him a half-smile before she left the room.

Eric wasn't dumb enough to think that this morning had been undone, that either of them had been any less wounded by their careless words, or that tonight would be some moony-eyed lovefest. But they'd bandaged the cuts, he supposed, slathered apology on them like a salve and they'd heal over before too long.

Feeling infinitely more settled, Eric turned his attention back to the ten-cards in front of him. Fifteen minutes later, he'd found the match. "Bingo," he murmured, lifting up the card. "Looks like baby brother is due for another sit-down."


	14. Chapter 14

Author's note: Many thanks to the always fabulous Bella7 for the use of Untamed Savanna, a secret indulgence first revealed in her story, "Addiction." If you haven't read it, go now! Read now!

* * *

Calleigh couldn't sleep. It came as no surprise, considering the roller coaster of the last twenty-four hours, but her brain wouldn't shut off. Eric had left work almost an hour ahead of her, so her dinner had been cold pizza and a soda during the first half-hour of Wife Swap. The tension between them hadn't quite dissipated, and she'd supposed there were things they should have talked about, but it hadn't seemed the time. Still, they'd managed to crack a few smiles over the ridiculousness of the two families before Calleigh had excused herself to take her bath.

She'd returned a moment later, laughing and clutching a crisp new paperback book – Untamed Savanna by Precious Winters. "Eric?" she'd asked him, and as soon as he saw her cargo, he'd given her one of those schoolboy grins she loved so much. "Did you buy this on your way home from work?"

He'd shrugged and told her he'd figured she should have something to read in the bath, and she'd laughed again and crossed to the bed, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

"You," she'd murmured, "Are a wonderful, wonderful man. And I'm sorry that I am such a mess today."

"You already apologized."

"I know. But I wanted to say it again before I disappear into the bathroom to reacquaint myself with Angelo and Savanna and their harrowing love story." She'd kissed him again, softly, before warning, "And if you ever tell anyone about this-"

"You'll kill me. I know." He'd smirked, given her a playful nudge. "Now go; I want to see how granola mom does with the weight trainers."

Two hours later, she'd finally emerged from the bath, wrinkled like a prune and still absorbed in her book. He'd gone to the gym upstairs while she was soaking, so he'd hopped in the shower as soon as the bathroom was free, and between the white noise of the shower spray and the steady stream of words on the page in front of her, she'd found her eyes drooping. By the time he'd finished, she'd been dozing lightly, and when he'd slid into the bed with her, waking her, he'd insisted she just sleep. They could talk later.

Of course it was just her luck that her little catnap combined with his wake-up call to leave her wide-awake and restless. Now she couldn't get comfortable, couldn't get quiet. The chasm of space between their bodies had her mind wandering back to that morning, heart clenching every time she replayed the fight. With a heavy sigh, she flopped onto her back again, staring up into the dark. This was ridiculous. She needed to sleep. She was tired, and she needed to sleep. And she… couldn't.

When he shifted ever so slightly beside her, she turned her head, squinting in an attempt to make out his silhouette, but it was too dark. "Eric?" she breathed, not wanting to wake him if he was already out. "Are you awake?"

He grunted softly, then managed a "mmhmm."

"Will you lay with me?" she requested softly, not entirely sure what his response would be. A little of her anxiety eased when she felt him shift behind her, rolling onto his side only inches away. She turned dutifully onto her side as well, scooting back until her back was pressed to his chest, their legs tangling as she pillowed her head on his arm. There was something Pavlovian about being in his arms, she mused, marveling at the way her body began to relax almost immediately when his other arm settled over her, sliding up until his fingers hooked against her shoulder. She covered his arm with hers, laced their fingers.

"Better?" he murmured into her hair and she nodded. "What's keeping you up?"

"Thinking."

"Quit it," he told her, and she could hear the slight smirk in his voice.

"Wish I could." She shifted a little, wiggled her shoulders back until she found just the right spot.

"Talk to me?" he requested, voice so soft and hesitant that she'd have lost it in the rustle of sheets if she'd still been moving. It was no surprise he was tentative in light of the grand mal hissy she'd thrown that morning after opening up to him. No time like the present to try again, though, so she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"You really hurt me this morning," she confessed quietly, her words sounding louder in the silent room than the whisper that they actually were. "I know you... didn't mean it, and you just said it because you were hurt, but… you are the last person I ever expected to take something I told you – and _only_ you – and use it to hurt me. That's why I told you, because I knew it would be okay. I knew it would be safe with you. And then it wasn't, and it hurt. A lot." She could feel the tears behind her closed lids, and hated them like she hated the slight tremble in her voice.

She felt his face press into her hair, felt the slow, warm exhale of his breath against the back of her neck. After a moment, she heard his muffled, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah," she replied, blinking her eyes back open in the dark. "You did. But it's okay. People hurt each other when they fight. I hurt you." He nodded, and she traced her fingers over his arm. "Do you need to talk? About your parents, about everything?"

"No," he answered a little too quickly.

"Eric… I know this is kind of pot-and-kettle, but you shouldn't keep things bottled. You can talk to me, always, about anything. You know that, right?"

"I do," he assured, tracing a fingertip along the curve of her shoulder and making her squirm at the slight tickle. "But I don't want to talk right now. Not about me, anyway."

She sighed, kept up the slow, lazy strokes against his arm. "I'm sorry I closed up this morning. I should have said something… better." She turned in his arms suddenly, shifting to face him and looping an arm over his ribs. "And don't be jealous of Jake," she insisted quietly, giving him a light squeeze. "Don't ever be jealous of Jake. You have nothing to be jealous _of_, Eric."

He shrugged, brushing her hair away from her neck and let his hand stroke over her spine. "I know that. I mean, logically, I get that. But you guys have a history, and-"

"So do we," she reminded, shimmying down to tuck her head beneath his chin and pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

"I know that, I just mean… He knows things about you that I don't. He has your past."

She tipped her head up, held him tight. "And you have my now. And my future."

"Not if…" He trailed off, sighed, and gave her a squeeze that was nothing compared to the vice grip of anxiety those two words had clamped around her heart.

"Not if what?"

"You have to let me in, Cal. You have to let me close, or I can't do this with you. I can't have half of you, or some of you, or the clean and easy parts of you. I want every messy bit of Calleigh Duquesne I can get, so if you're going to hold back on me, tell me now and we'll just… pretend this week never happened, I guess."

She pressed her face against him again, shook her head, and murmured against the cotton of his shirt, "I can't do that."

"Then I can't do this," he told her gently, regretfully.

"No, I mean I can't forget. I can't forget what it feels like to be like this with you." She took a deep breath, then pushed herself back up until their breath mingled, faces only inches apart. "I've never…" Another sigh, and she swallowed against the knot of nerves in her throat. "You snuck up on me. I've never felt this way with anyone, and I'm just… scared."

"Of what?"

"Messing this up," she admitted, barely above a breath. "I can't walk away, and I can't…" She sighed, tangled herself even closer. "I want to give you what you want from me, but I need time. I need you to give me time to adjust, okay?" He nodded, pressed his lips to hers for a few lazy, soothing kisses.

They were quiet for a moment before she told him softly, "I love you," and felt his lips curve against hers as he leaned in for another kiss. He'd been free with the phrase over the last several days, offering it up to her whenever he felt she needed it, but in typical fashion, she'd kept it close. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd told him and still have fingers left. It was a gift, a peace offering, something to tide him over while he waited for her to settle into this, into them.

And he must have known that, must have taken it for what it was, because he murmured a quiet thank you, and dotted kisses on the end of her nose, her forehead, her temple. "Me too," he told her, then rolled onto his back and tugged her with him until her head was against his chest, his chin resting against her brow. They laid like that for a while, Calleigh listening to the beat of his heart, her brain still buzzing around an idea, a suggestion. When she felt Eric's hand begin to slow its lazy strokes against her hair, she finally spoke up.

"Eric…"

"Mm."

"My, um… My offer still stands."

She felt him frown as he settled his arm against her shoulders. "What offer?"

"I have a guest bedroom. If it's that or another cheap motel… I'd rather you stay with me. We'll just have to work out time for-"

He cut her off, shushed her, and shook his head. "I talked to H. They're going to put a detail on my condo, so I can move back there. Hard to deny a request for protection to the guy who's been targeted by the mob."

Just the thought lanced jittery anxiety through her, and she tightened the arm sprawled across him. "Oh." It was all she could think of to say. 'Thank God' didn't seem appropriate, however true it was.

"Besides, I don't think you were lying this morning. You need your space. Living together wouldn't be good for us."

"I want you safe. If that's what it took to keep you safe, I'd do it."

He chuckled slightly, held her tighter, and pressed a kiss to her brow. "Your place isn't exactly bulletproof. I'd just be putting you in more danger, not me in less."

She was about to ask if that meant he wouldn't spend nights with her when a thought occurred to her. She levered up onto her elbow and frowned down on him—not that it was effective in the dark. For all she knew, from this angle she could be scowling at his Adam's apple instead of his eyes. "If you have a detail on your apartment, I can't be there. I mean, I certainly can't stay there. IAB will find out in a heartbeat, and it will be a disaster."

"We'll work it out, Calleigh," he assured, flattening his hand against her back to ease her body against his again.

She resisted, shaking her head. "No, Eric, IAB can't find out about this. If they know we're together, they'll move one of us. This isn't like Jake and me; we worked in different departments. We'll-"

"Calleigh," he interrupted, chuckling. "They aren't tailing me, just keeping an eye out when I can't. We can still go out, we can still have lots of hot, sweaty sex at your place, I can still spend the night if I tell them I have a date and I'm not coming home. We'll work it out."

She huffed and deflated against him finally, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I want you safe," she relented with a sigh, grateful he couldn't see the entirely immature pout on her face. "But we're going to get caught."

"No, we're not. It's only temporary. When we get this whole thing worked out and my father isn't trying to take me out anymore," She felt his body tense as he spoke and pressed another kiss to his chest, then another, a fourth. "No more surveillance."

"So, what? We just sneak around like a couple of teenagers after curfew for the next few weeks? Months?"

"Yes," he answered simply, wrapping his arms around her again and urging her to settle in again. "But don't worry about that anymore tonight, okay? Just get some rest."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep now," she grumped, but she found herself a comfortable spot anyway, and moaned softly when one of his hands rose to massage her neck gently.

"Sure, you are. Just shut your brain off."

"I can't do that."

"Fine. Count sheep."

"That never works. The sheep turn into the things I have to worry about, and then I'm stuck listing every distraction and—"

"_Fine_. Count my heartbeats."

"What?" She tipped her head up; he nudged it back down.

"Listen to my heart, and count the beats."

"That won't work."

"Humor me," he chuckled, and with a sigh, she did. She counted one, two, three, and up and up, got distracted around sixty-two and squirmed against him, earning herself a "Stop worrying," and a "Start over." She forced her mind clear, focused on the feel of him beneath her, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Somewhere around two hundred, she decided that maybe they would be okay, so long as she could fall asleep to this every once in a while, and by the time the hypnotic rhythm finally lulled her off somewhere around three hundred and twelve, she was at peace.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Okay, this is it! The final chapter of The Miami Sofitel. I hope y'all have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Special thanks to all who have left reviews over the course of this story -- reviews make the world go round, folks!

* * *

"Okay," Calleigh sighed, frustrated, and Eric couldn't help but grin at her. She had this particular pout that seemed to be reserved for when she'd been foiled by the universe, and after nearly a decade of watching her and six months of dating her, he'd come to consider it one of his favorites. "I can't find my suit."

"What do you mean you can't find your suit?" he asked, still reclining buck-naked on the bed where they'd spent the early morning tangling the sheets in the best way possible. "You had it last week."

"I did. I did have it last week, Eric, but that was before I got that cockamamie idea to ask you to move in with me-" Eric grinned at just the mention of their new living arrangements. "And now my bedroom – as you can see – is full of boxes of your crap. And I can't find my swimsuit."

"Well then I guess you'll just have to go without," he reasoned, grinning and sitting up, snatching her wrist before she could evade and tugging her down to the bed with him. "I promise to rub sunscreen on all your pale parts."

"Yeah, I bet you do," she smirked, rolling her eyes and pressing a kiss to his lips before pointing out, "If I go nude, I can't dive."

Eric just shrugged. "You can go commando in the wetsuit. It's yours."

"And when I want to take it off?" Calleigh questioned with a quirk of her brow.

"Then we're back to that nudity I enjoy so much."

Calleigh smirked and shook her head, searing her mouth to his for a deep, enthusiastic kiss before pushing herself off the bed and resuming her search. "No go, scuba boy. Either we find my swimsuit, or we're not going. And I did not rent this boat for the day so that we could _not_ use it."

"Oh, alright. Can I at least have my way with you on the boat?"

Calleigh popped her head up from where she'd been searching under the bed – again – and offered him a mischievous grin. "If you don't, you're paying for the boat rental."

"I thought it was my anniversary gift," he pointed out, rolling onto his stomach cross-wise on the bed and scanning the room for any sign of the electric blue material of her swimsuit.

"It was. But I also asked you to move in with me, and one could argue that making such an offer is enough of a gift."

"True, but you asked me to move in with you two weeks ago. Our anniversary is today." Eric slid his hand around the back of her neck and used it to pull her close for a slow, lingering kiss.

She moaned softly when they parted and murmured a quiet, "Very true." Another sweet kiss, and she sighed an "I love you."

He answered in kind, and savored the flush of warmth her confessions of love always gave him. She was freer with the words now, freer with everything. They'd had a little bit of rocky start, but after a few weeks, they found their footing. Taking it slow after their week in the hotel had been exactly what they needed. It had helped them navigate the rocky terrain of those first few months – her hospital stay, his family issues, the slow leak of their romance throughout the MDPD lab (Eric still couldn't believe they'd managed to stay under Stetler's radar). More than any of that, though, the time had allowed them to figure out how they fit. They'd both needed time to adjust, to relearn the steps to this particular dance. Now, though, they were like Rogers and Astaire, gliding effortlessly through a romance that left him breathless.

When she'd finally asked him to move into her place, it had been with none of the desperation of the first time. Instead, she'd asked him over a pint of rocky road with Big Momma's House 2 on cable. The movie had gone to commercial, and she'd given him this look, as if she'd had some kind of grand revelation. He'd been a little concerned about what kind of epiphany could be brought on by Martin Lawrence in a fat suit, but as it turned out, she'd just looked at him and said. "I don't want you to go home tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Stay here, with me. Move in."

He'd stolen the spoon back, and told her "okay," and that had been that. She'd shown up at his condo the next day with cardboard boxes, and two weeks later, here they were – surrounded by said boxes as she grew ever more frustrated trying to find her swimsuit.

"You know, we live in Miami. You'd think you have more than one."

"I do have more than one," she informed primly, shoving one of his boxes out of her way with his foot. "But I want the black one."

"Wait – which black one?"

"The halter, with the boy-short bottoms."

"Oh. I, uh… That one is in the car," he told her sheepishly, scratching the back of his head and trying to look sufficiently guilty. "I thought you were looking for the blue one."

Calleigh turned and frowned at him, shaking her head. "No, I brought it in after the beach, to wash it. How would it end up in the car again?"

"I might have, uh, packed it." Damnit. This was going to ruin his gift for her. He'd meant to keep it a surprise for the rest of the day, but he knew better than to think she'd let this go without a straight answer.

"You packed my suit?" she questioned slowly.

"Yes."

"But you didn't pack it in the beach bag?"

"No."

She stared at him for a moment, as if he'd grown a third head or something. "…Is there any logical reason why?"

"Yes." He left it at that.

Calleigh was not amused. "Do you care to share?"

"It's in your rolling suitcase," he explained, knowing that was a "where" and not a "why," but she was making the frustrated face again and he wanted to enjoy it for a while. "The smaller one."

"Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you pack my rolling suitcase?"

"Because I couldn't fit five days worth of clothes in your overnight bag," he told her simply, watching her face shift from confusion, to suspicion, to anxious curiosity.

"We only have the boat for one day…" A slow smile was curving her lips now.

"Not for the boat."

"Eric…"

He was grinning now. "Mmhmm."

"Where are you taking me – do I have to take off work?" The fun-loving girlfriend was suddenly pinned under the wall of professionalism. "You should have told me; I have a ton of open cases I need to finish. I'd have put in overtim-"

"Calleigh," he laughed, shaking his head. "You're fine. No vacation days, I promise. I'd have told you if it was something like that."

"Well… what then?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he explained, pushing off the bed and walking to her dresser – their dresser, now. He'd had a drawer there for weeks even before he moved in, and he tugged it open, reaching into the back and pulling out an envelope. When he turned to give it to her, she was right behind him, and he laughed, shaking his head as he handed it to her. "Impatient, are we?"

He'd have expected a teasing retort if her face hadn't suddenly gone so soft and sweet. She traced a finger over the lettering on the envelope, then shook her head and laughed, lifting her face to offer him one of those bright-as-the-sun grins. "The Sofitel?"

"Five nights," he confirmed, drawing her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her brow. "Just us."

She wiggled her eyebrows and wound her arms around his waist, squeezing him to her. "I think…" She pushed onto her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. "That is the perfect gift."

"I thought you might," he murmured, coasting his palms down to cup her denim-covered rear. "I was thinking we could get some cheesecake…"

"Ooooh," she agreed, unable to fight a grin. "And this time, we're having sex in the tub, with the jets."

"Mm." He stole another hot kiss, walking her back toward the bed. "Definitely. I have two rules for the week, though."

"What's that?" she asked, just as her legs bumped the end of the bed.

"No arguing." One little push sent her back onto the mattress, chuckling as she scooted back so he could settle on top of her. "And no tears."

Hooking her hands around his neck, she tugged his mouth close to hers and murmured, "Deal," before sealing it with a kiss.

They made love again, quick and hot and playful, then spent the afternoon on the water, soaking up sun and summer and salt water. When the sun began to sink low, he guided them back to shore and slipped a key card into her hand, just like she'd done to him a half a year before. This time, though, there was no hesitation, no nerves. Just the quiet knowledge that for the next five nights, he was hers, and she was his, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

Stay tuned this spring for the final chapters of _Tuck_, the continued collaboration of creepy-creepy _Hunting Azrael_ with Bella7, and a brand-new multi-chap story that will take us all on a little trip to lovely Louisiana.


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